


Flower Girl

by mogitz



Category: Archie Comics, Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017), Riverdale (TV 2017) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bartender!Jughead, College, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Humor, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Romance, bughead - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-09 00:31:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12265224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mogitz/pseuds/mogitz
Summary: "He spends the rest of the night regretting that he didn’t ask for her number, or even just any way to reach her. He figures that if he is meant to see her again this spring break, fate will find a way to throw them in each other’s path, once more.So, imagine Jughead’s complete and utter surprise when he unlocks the door to his apartment that night to find her sitting inside. Maybe fate works a lot faster than he expected."When most of the University students head home for Spring break, Jughead is tending bar. That's when Betty Cooper walks in, soaking wet and seeking advice.





	1. one wet, stormy, spring night

**Author's Note:**

> Splintering has been an emotional ride. I needed some fluff and humor to cleanse the pallet. <3 Leave some love.

She always drew flowers in the corner of her notebook pages when she got bored during lectures.

Sometimes daisies. Sometimes roses. They had long, winding stems adorned with leaves.

When she was in a _good_ mood, the flowers were blooming. When she seemed sad, she often drew them wilting - She had been drawing a lot of wilting flowers, lately.

But that’s how Jughead always identified her: The Flower Girl. At least, that’s how he’d identified her since the beginning of winter term when he saw her for the first time in their two-part literature course. He noticed her right away; it was hard not to.

She was _beautiful_ . From her papers and her contribution in class, she was _intelligent_.

And the first day he saw her, she was late.

“Sorry, _so_ sorry,” she murmured, finding the closest seat and slinking in. Her cheeks were flushed, her breaths were heavy. She’d probably ran there.

Being a TA, he would often collect the papers from the other students when an assignment was due. Without fail, whenever he found the paper with the flowers drawn in the margins, it was always her name scrawled so elegantly across the top: _Betty Cooper_.

 

Tonight is different, though.

When she comes into the bar, she is _soaking_ wet - as though she just took a fully-clothed dip in the campus fountain outside. The gauze-like, pale pink material of her blouse clings to her body, leaving very little to the imagination. He can see her lacy, white bra as though the shirt were sheer - she may as well have forgone it altogether.

But he is polite. He doesn’t stare.

Even as the rain drips from her golden hair and she huffs out a lonely sigh, climbing up on the barstool right across from him. It’s late on an otherwise ordinary Tuesday night. Spring break has just started, sending all the students spiraling in different directions, home for the weeklong furlough. Aside from a few regulars, the bar is dead.

And she is the _very_ last person he imagines walking in tonight.

“What can I get you?” he asks the beauty, barely looking up at her. He tries to treat her like _every_ other customer who walks into the bar, and not like the girl he’d watched in class, studied. He’d sat behind her once or twice, noticing the small cluster of freckles on the back of her neck. He wants to trace them like a dot-to-dot, discover her hidden artistry.

When she looks up at him, he sees that her mascara has run. He is unsure if it is from tears or rain.

“Vodka soda,” she says, propping her chin up with her hand. “Double. _Please_.”

The ‘ _please’_ is an afterthought, like a girl who has been groomed to be polite her whole life, but hasn’t been home in so long that she’s forgotten her manners. She probably even heard her mother’s voice echoing in her back of her head, scolding her: _“now, what do we say, Elizabeth?”_

_Please._

Jughead whistles, shaking his head. “You look like you’ve had a rough day…” he says. He pulls out a shotglass and begins to pour.

“How could you tell?” she asks him, a mischievous smile on her pink lips; the kind that reaches her eyes and makes them sparkle.

“Just a hunch.” He smoothly slides her glass over to her across the glossy, wooden counter.

“Oh, wait. Could I get some lime too, please?” she asks, scrunching her nose, “if it’s not too much trouble-”

Jughead snickers and grabs a lime wedge from the metal bowl nearby. He squeezes it into her drink, and then plops it in.

“Boy, you sure are high maintenance…” he teases, shaking his head in mock disapproval. She bites her tongue and smiles.  She takes the thin black straw between her lips and breathes in a long drink. She winces as it goes down, and then she coughs, delicately.

“This is strong.”

“Oh, I know,” Jughead says, pausing only a moment before refilling the beer mug of the old, drunk man at the other end of the bar. “You seemed like you could use it.”

“What are you, a mind reader?” she quips, flatly. He chuckles again to himself, but doesn’t answer her purely rhetorical question.

“What brings you in here tonight, anyway?” She tilts her head slightly, her ear out to hear what he’s asking her. He watches the question process on her face, watches her begin to formulate an answer. She’s fascinating, already.

“I was supposed to meet someone-”

This is his chance to come to the rescue, (and so soon, too).

“Okay, what’s he look like? I’ll keep an eye out-”

“- _three_ hours ago,” she finishes.

“Oh.”

Her forlorn and forgotten smile tells him what he’s already gathered: she’s been stood up.

“ _Yeah…_ ” She tucks some of that aryan, blonde hair behind her ear, sheepishly. Embarrassedly. _She shouldn’t be embarrassed_ , he thinks. _It’s the moron who stood her up that should be embarrassed_.

Of course, he doesn’t say this aloud.

She goes on, “We were _supposed_ to meet at the campus coffee shop but he never showed. So, I began my walk of shame home, but it started pouring. So I ducked in here, and _here_ I _am_.”

And _here_ she _is_.

She tips the drink back, gulping it down. When she sets the glass back down, he watches her visibly shudder; probably from being cold and wet... _and_ the rush of alcohol that is now sinking into her bloodstream.

“Well then… _this_ one’s on the house,” he offers, refilling her glass, twist of lime. She lazily leans her cheek deeper into her palm, snorting.

“I don’t need your pity, kind sir,” she assures him haughtily. Her words are already slurring. She’s a lightweight. She takes the glass in her hand, swirling the contents, “but I shall take it, anyway.” She holds the glass up to cheers with him, even though he clearly doesn’t have a glass to reciprocate.

He doesn’t want to creep her out, staring at her so much, so Jughead goes back to wiping down the bar. That’s when he catches her staring at _him_ , instead. Her eyes are narrowed, her head tilted to the side- she’s trying to place him. He looks around uncomfortably, “ _what?_ ”

“I _know_ you,” she says after a moment. A very slow, deliberate smile cracks across her face.

“Hmm. I doubt that.”

She sits up straighter in her seat, “Yeah, I _do_! You’re the TA in Professor Kelley’s lit class.”

Jughead leans in toward her, his arms on the bar now, “And how do you know it’s me? How do you know I don’t have a twin?”

She laughs, _too_ loudly. Her head falls back, “no. I know it’s you-”

“Maybe I have a clone, an _evil_ clone-” he continues to razz her.

She points a finger at him and tells him through her laughter, “I know it’s you because of that _hat._ It’s a _very_ specific hat. You wear it every day.”

He nods once, humbled.

“You got me. Specific hat man.”

“Hello, _Hat Man_. I’m Betty.” He says her name right along with her, at least in his mind he does. She extends her hand out to shake his. “Betty Cooper.”

He takes her hand, giving it a quick shake, “Jughead.” He lets go as though she were electric.

“ _Pshhh!_ No it’s not!” she laughs, her body now falling forward. He just stares back at her - it isn’t the first time someone’s that kind of a reaction to his _unique_ name. Her smile fades quickly, her cheeks turning a _very_ vibrant shade of pink. “Oh, _God_. I-I’m sorry.”

He just chuckles lightly, drying the glasses in front of him with a rag.

“So. That guy who stood you up. Who is he?”

“He’s…. My _boyfriend?_ ” she replies, her face all scrunched up. _He_ smiles now, bigger than before. This must be what’s causing her and her flowers to look so sad, lately. He wishes he could tell her that, but that would be an insane thing to do.

“Was… that a _question?_ ”

She sighs, her shoulders slumping. “I don’t know _what_ we are, honestly. We’ve kissed a few times…”

Jughead sighs too, swinging the rag over his shoulder and leaning down again. She also leans in,  and in the very small, intimate space between them, he asks her, “want some advice?” Her plump, pouted lips slightly part and she nods slowly with wide, wondering eyes. They are green. He hadn’t been sure before, but _my God_ , they are green.

“ _Okay…_ ” She’s hesitant. She can tell it’s not going to be what she wants to hear. But she’s willing, so that’s a good sign.

“You say you don’t know what you guys are… but, I mean... he _stood_ you _up._ And rule of thumb is that generally if you don’t even know where you stand with a guy? Well… he’s _not_ your _boyfriend_.”

Her lips purse together and she swallows, “I mean… not _yet-_ ”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, here. But you have to prepare for the possibility of not _ever_.”

She folds her arms over her chest and sulks - that perfect, bottom lip of hers just barely sticks out. He is right: she doesn’t want to hear it.

“You don’t know that,” she near-whispers. He smirks, standing more upright.

“Oh, sure I do,” he tells her, having a cavalier hand in her direction. He leans down again, this time so close to her face he could kiss her if he wants to. And he _wants_ to. But he won’t. She mimics him. She leans in. He’s taken enough psychology to know she at the very least trusts him. “But I have some good news for you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It means that you’re free to move on and find someone who actually _wants_ to be your boyfriend.” He can hear her suck in a soft breath, her eyes searching his. “And besides… you seem like the kind of girl who has lots of guys banging down your door for a date,” he shrugs. Her brows crease, she looks ever-so-slightly offended.

“Not necessarily...” she tells him, taking another sip of her cocktail. She purses her lips again, this time to subdue the tartness of the drink. “And who are _you_ , anyway?”

“No one,” is his _very_ simple, _very_ direct response. He huffs out a quick laugh.  “ _Really_. No one.”

No one to the likes of flower girls like Betty Cooper.

“You don’t _know_ him.”

“You’re right.” He takes in a quick breath, leaning against the back of the bar. He watches as a few new customers come in, laughing and loud and _just_ in time to ruin the tension they’ve steadily been building. But she isn’t ready to let it go.

“And you _don’t_ know me,” she says, her eyes darkening and her demeanor changing. She is embarrassed again, he can tell. She slinks into herself, her whole posture contracting. What she means to say is that she doesn't know herself. And she is terrified he might be onto something, here.

“Sure I do,” he tells her, far too cocky for his own good. Jughead had never been a confident person, _per se_. He’s not quite sure where this is coming from. Perhaps his uncanny ability to call people out when necessary. And in this case, it seems necessary.

“Then tell me, _oh wise one_. Who am I?” she challenges. She now sounds flirty in nature, but he’s dead serious. Catching her gaze, he leans in one last time:

“You’re the kind of girl who goes by _Betty_ because you think it sounds timeless and uncommon and _Elizabeth_ was too formal and _Lizzy_ made you feel like a little girl. You loved your daddy more than your mom because he always made you feel special - at least, more special than she does. But I’d bet you still have this nagging, unrelenting need to please her. Am I warm?”

She looks puzzled at first, absently uttering out a “ _...maybe_.”

“I thought so.”

She snaps out of it, waving him off now, “Lucky guess. I’m sure that analysis could work for a lot of different girls-”

“You believed in fairytales a little too long and think most cheesy love songs hold a lot more poignancy than they deserve. You played with Barbies for a little longer than you care to admit, and if I were to look in your boots, I’d see that you’re not wearing matching socks.”

That one seems to freak her out a bit. Her eyes round with guilt before she casts her gaze downwards, toward her boots, “wait… How did you-”

But he’s not done yet. He’s just getting to the most important part.

“I’d guess this boy who stood you up isn’t the _first_ one you’ve let walk all over you or let you down, and you ask yourself why you allow it every single time. But you continue to fall for it again and again and again and-

“Alright,” she snaps, raking her fingers through her wet hair. She forces a smile, once again trying to remain polite, always remembering those dang manners that have been drilled into her from infancy. She probably grew up believing it was impolite to cry or show any emotion other than happiness.

“Hey, _you_ asked,” he tells her, his hands up in a ceasefire.

“I know…” she spits out, heaving another heavy sigh. She picks at the napkin in front of her, mindlessly ripping at the corners. “I just didn’t expect you to be so… forthcoming. How did you know all that, by the way?” Jughead wants to tell her it’s a gift, that he can read people because he’s always stood in the background. Watching. Observing. Noting.

“But more than all that, you’re a girl who doesn’t see her own worth, and wastes her own time wondering if some _loser -_ who doesn’t _deserve_ it - _may_ or may _not_ be her boyfriend.”

She is lost in the moment, and if he’s honest with himself, he is too. He can see the people who came in a moment ago getting impatient, but he doesn’t care. They can wait.

She shakes off her daze, groaning at herself, “ugh, you’re right.”

“I usually am.”

“What should I do?” she asks him, and he is almost caught off guard. He didn’t realize there was a step two to his advice. So he tells her the most logical thing he can think of:

“Don’t let him have that power anymore. Cut it off. Make the choice for him. He can’t treat you that way, Betty. He’s not your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she repeats, and he is almost certain it is going to become her new mantra. At least, he hopes so. She sounds more confident the second time she says it, “he’s not my boyfriend.”

“There you go.” He finally walks over to the waiting customers, who ask for a beer and a glass of Merlot, respectively.

“I’m gonna tell him that!” She pulls out her cellphone, squinting to see the screen. She fumbles around on it for a moment, he can’t tell how tipsy she is but she seems alright.

“Good for you.”

She stands, grabbing her purse, “I’m gonna go tell him. In person. He can’t treat me like that-” He’s wondering if this newfound confidence in her is real or liquid courage.

“Do you need me to call you a cab?”

“No, the rain seems to have stopped. I’ll walk.”

He hands the couple their drinks and wonders if he’ll see her again outside of class. He never even got to ask her why she didn’t go home for spring break. He wants to ask for her number, he wants to ask her if he can see her again. But no… somehow, after all of that, he can’t seem to find the nerve.

“Good luck,” he tells her, instead.

“Thank you, Hat Man.”

“ _Jughead_. But close,” he smirks.

“Jughead,” she smiles back at him. “Got it.”

And just how she had walked in, she walks right back out.

“Can I get a refill over here?” the drunk man calls out, bringing Jughead back to reality.

“Alright, Marv. I’m coming. Relax with yourself.”

He spends the rest of the night regretting that he didn’t ask for her number, or even just any way to reach her. He figures that if he is meant to see her again this spring break, fate will find a way to throw them in each other’s path, once more.

So, imagine Jughead’s complete and utter surprise when he unlocks the door to his apartment that night to find her sitting inside. Maybe fate works a _lot_ faster than he expected.

 

* * *

 

To Be Continued....


	2. of all the apartments, in all the towns in the world…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, today is your guys’ lucky day. It was slow at work and you guys were so damn cute with your reviews/kudos/etc. that I had to post chapter two like, immediately. I was going to post yesterday but my grandpa passed away.
> 
> But see what happens when you motivate a writer? We deliver. Gotta keep up the momentum for you fine ass folks. Already working on Chapter 3. I needed this little hiatus from Splintering, for sure.

 

 

The sound of Jughead’s keys clanging loudly against the entryway table makes her jump like a frightened cat. He can see that she’s braced and ready to explain herself, but she appears to be rendered speechless when she recognizes him. They just stand there and awkwardly stare at one another, trying to figure out just what _exactly_ is happening, here.

“Um… _hey_ there, Goldilocks,” he manages to string together. He is just as amused as he is bewildered - Is he _imaging_ this? Is he dreaming? More importantly… how did she even get _in_ here?         

His hands search for the pockets of his pants as he rocks back and forth on his heels, “ “Wanna tell me what exactly you’re _doing_ here?” He sounds menacing, but it’s all a show and he can’t seem to wipe the smile off his face. This is just _too_ surreal.

“ _You…?”_ she breathes, “wh-what are you doing here?”

Jughead silences momentarily, and then sputters out a sort of baffled chuckle. Is this a joke? Is she messing with him? And if so… why doesn’t he _get_ it?

He can feel his forehead crease, he shakes his head, “I’m _pretty_ sure I asked you that first.” He strides in further, stripping his wet jacket off and tossing it on the back of the couch. “And I’m pretty sure you’re in _my_ apartment-”

There are those wide, green eyes again, staring back at him in awe. They’re crazy green right now, like kaleidoscope eyes. Betty in the Sky with Diamonds. So interesting that only a few hours ago he’d grappled with the fact that he may not see her again until after the break and yet once again: here. she. _is._

“ _Your_ apartment?” she parrots right back at him.

Well… _hell_. Now she’s got him doubting his _own_ sanity, so he glances around:

Exposed wooden beams…? Check.

Dark, broody color scheme…? _You_ betcha.

 _Impeccable_ taste…? _Yup_ , this is still his place.

He narrows his eyes at her, “Um, last I checked... _yeah._ ”

“But…” Oh. She suddenly whitens, her mouth falling open, “Oh, God. _Wait…_ ”

And then it clicks - for _both_ of them. (Although, he’s fairly certain she got there a full half-second before he did.)

Jughead points at her, “…you’re here to see-”

“ _Archie_ ,” they finish in unison. Another uncomfortable silence falls upon them and Jughead wards off the slight bout of nausea this is bringing up in him.

 _Archie??_ A perfect specimen like Betty “Flower Girl” Cooper - Jughead’s mysterious dream girl - is all wrapped up in the likes of Archie Andrews?

She folds her lips, nodding in what appears to be defeat. She smacks her lips, “So then… You and Archie _live_ together.” This isn’t a question she’s asking now; she’s merely stating a fact, connecting the dots. And he hopes she feels as disappointed by this realization as _he_ does.

“Well… just _barely_ ,” Jughead says. He gestures towards the half-unpacked boxes sitting near the hallway and her eyes follow. They’re haphazardly stacked on each other, Archie’s handwriting scrawling ‘ _Archie’s junk’_ across the side. “My roommate Josh just moved to Spain to study abroad and Big Red could pay the deposit in full, so…”

“ _Right…_ ” she whispers. Her gaze falls to the dark, hardwood floor and damnit, he wishes he’d swept today…It’s not like he was expecting company.

“Small world, huh?” is all he can think to say, and then he clenches his jaw shut and wants to _kick_ himself for not being able to come up with anything better than some dumb, overused cliché.

“ _Weird_ world,” she mutters back. _That’s_ more like it.

“Well… Sorry to inform you, but he’s not here,” Jughead shrugs.

“So I gathered,” she snaps at him, followed up immediately with a, “ _sorry.”_ There are those damn manners, again. She apologizes too much, too often.

“Well, this explains… _so_ much.”

“ _Does_ it?” she chirps back. She’s flushed again, writhing uncomfortably on her own feet. She’s panicking because not _only_ was Jughead the last person she was expecting to see, but she just got caught in an incredibly awkward situation. “Because _I’m_ still confused.”

“Well, then. That makes two of us.”

He doesn’t want to, but he somehow feels ever-so-slightly defensive – she came here looking for Archie, but had to settle for the charming, handsome, intelligent _bartender_ instead. And why does she seem so _disappointed_ by that? He finds himself wondering if she was _really_ going to break it off with Archie had she found him here tonight, or if she would simply melt into him the moment he showed her the tiniest bit of lukewarm interest. Jughead barely lifts the hat off of his head, runs his fingers through his inky, damp hair, and then promptly puts the hat back on.

He sighs in the silence, but it turns to a kind of growl. This is _not_ the kind of situation he wants to be in without a drink. So he crosses the room and heads into the open kitchen before flicking on the lights. She just watches him from her planted spot in the living room, her arms crossed over her chest, apprehensively - he finds it humorous that she seems to intend on sticking around.

He opens the cabinet to his (usually) stocked bar, only to see Archie has pretty much cleaned them out. There’s a half-full (or, half-empty, if you fancy yourself a pessimist) bottle of vodka, some mixers. Gin.

When he glances back at her, she’s looking down at her fidgeting, nervous hands, “So…” she says.

“So,” he replies.

“Where… where is Archie… anyway?” Her attempt to ask this question so casually given the fact that she basically broke into their apartment is laughable at this point. And… ugh. _Adorable_. Betty’s words are thick and dripping with disdain – not in Archie, but in _herself_. She hates that she’s even asking the question. She is still lovesick and she doesn’t want to be.

“He left this morning for Tahoe with some friends. And took all the _good_ booze with him, _the prick_ ,” he tells her _far_ too directly to protect her feelings. Then again, after his rant at the bar earlier, she can probably tell he isn’t really the type to tiptoe around the truth. And he isn’t going to be starting now. Everything he said then remains true, even if the ‘ _not-quite-my-boyfriend’_ she’s been mooning over turned out to be his new roommate.

“Oh,” she utters, simply. It bends, it cracks. He hopes she isn’t about to cry. He wants to tell her that Archie’s not worth the tears - especially after bailing on plans with her only to go across the country with his binge-drinking, frat-boy buddies.

But she’s _smart_. And _strong_. And something inside of him thinks she already knows that.

“Drink?” he offers, yanking the vodka from the cupboard. The clear liquid swirls around in the bottle like a tornado.

She goes to answer, and it seems like she _might_ be teetering on a yes, but just like that, her face changes and she tells him quickly, “I-I should go-”:

“No!” he blurts - _far_ too eagerly. He reminds himself to _chill_ , pull back. And, most importantly: Don’t be such a freaking _weirdo._

“Really, I think I’ve embarrassed myself enough tonight-” she insists, snatching up her purse from nearby. While she looks like she may have freshened up before he got there – her cheeks are now devoid of running mascara - he can still see through her damp shirt. Not that he’s complaining.

“Oh, don’t,” His voice squeaks like a 13-year-old going through puberty. He recovers quickly, he clears his throat. “You don’t have to be embarrassed around _me_. I mean, who am _I?_ No one, remember? Specific Hat Man.” He watches her face slowly soften and the slightest hint of a smile comes back. Her nerves seem to dissolve and she lets herself faintly chuckle behind her hand.

“It is a _very_ specific hat,” she repeats from earlier. She seems to be feeling better already. They’ve both almost forgotten the terribly strange situation they are in.

“ _See?_ We have inside jokes, already,” he muses. She smiles even bigger now and she’s not trying to hide it anymore and it’s bright and beaming and it makes him reciprocate involuntarily, “Just like old friends.”

“You’re _not…”_ she begins, but her words trail off. Her stare veers off, too. She’s having a hard time looking at him and he can’t seem to decipher if it’s because she’s still totally mortified (probably) or if it’s because maybe she’s digging his awkward charm (probably _not_ ). Either way, he can’t resist at least _trying_ to keep her around as long as possible.

He leans back against the kitchen counter, “I’m not _what?_ ” he presses.

She sighs and groans embarrassedly, “You’re not _mad_ , you know? About me… kinda, sorta…” _Why can’t she just spit it out?_ “-letting myself in?”

“Oh!” he exclaims, “You mean the breaking and _entering?_ ” He waves her off and spins the cap off the top of the vodka bottle. “Nah. We can keep the authorities out of this, I think.” She loosely pulls her still-wet hair up into a sloppy ponytail and bravely steps into the kitchen with him. Betty leans her whole body against the counter, coolly.

“ _You_ told me to cut it off with him…” she mumbles through another sheepish grin. She’s blaming him for her entirely inappropriate decision of breaking into some guy’s apartment because he stood her up. (Should he be worried about her or himself at this point?)

“I mean, I think a simple ‘ _fuck you’_ text would have sufficed.”

She mocks his smile back at him, fake laughing at his very logical response.

He lowers his head and his voice as he tells her, “But… I’m glad you did. Makes me feel like a modern-day Humphrey Bogart. _Of all the apartments in all the towns in all the world… she breaks into mine.”_

She narrows her eyes, a wry smile on her lips, _“riiiight._ ”

She thinks he is being sarcastic when he _wants_ to tell her he’s being sincere. But, he doesn’t  – now isn’t that just a _tragedy?_

“But tell me,” his tone is lighter now, “how did you get in, anyway? Shimmy up the drainpipe? Knock in a window?”

She sneakily holds up silvery a key, “it was under the mat…”

“Wow,” Jughead raises his eyebrows and nods approvingly. He glances at her over his shoulder as he opens the freezer to fetch the ice, “ _soooo_ resourceful. Like a little Nancy Drew.”

Betty brightens instantly. She joyously clasps her hands together over her chest, her eyes glistening with nostalgia, “I used to have _all_ of her books.” Nerd. She wiggles her head in a grand, proud way, adding, “ _And_ her detective kit.” Betty says this as though it should impress him – for some odd reason, it _does_. Is she _trying_ to impress him?

“Well, I know who to call if I have a murder mystery to solve.”

“Mmm _-hmm_ …” she hums. “I’m your girl.” Why she chose those words, he’ll never know. He wishes suddenly they were back at his bar, a safe two feet of wooden countertop separating the two of them.

Without any warning, Betty reaches past him and leans her body into his, barely grazing him, to fetch the vodka bottle out of his hand. He hadn’t been expecting it so his body stiffens, his breath is stolen from him.

Her eyes never leave his as she tips the bottle back and takes a big swig. It would have been a _perfectly_ erotic moment… if she didn’t immediately fall into a coughing, spitting fit and nearly drop the bottle altogether. Jughead just laughs, taking the bottle from her hand before she can do any more damage to herself - or anyone else, for that matter. She pounds her chest a few times and it makes a hollow sound.

“Went down the wrong tube,” she wheezes.

“Easy there, turbo,” he shakes the bottle at her, the vodka sloshing around inside, “Instead of killing yourself, how about you let me make you a _real_ drink-”

“Wait!” she practically yells, snatching the bottle back once more and holding it closely, as though she’s cradling a newborn. “ _I’ll_ make them.”

“That’s okay-”

“No, really,” she demands, walking to the cupboard to grab two glasses. She instinctively knows where he keeps the tumblers – _it’s a sign we’re soulmates_ , he thinks. “You just worked all _day_ making drinks.”

“Well,” he tries to correct. Really it was only six hours. Before that he mostly just played PS4 and napped.

“You take a break. _I’ll_ serve _you_.” He raises his eyebrows again at the suggestive comment – she’s already turned, her back to him, as she drops the ice in the glasses and pretends to be a bartender in his very own kitchen. This was the certainly _last_ thing he was expecting tonight.

He can only shake his head once more, “Well… aren’t you _so-_ ”

“Ha! _Annoying?_ ” she snorts back at him over her shoulder, then blushes. She needs to love herself a little more.

“I was gonna say _nice -_ but, uh - now that you _mention_ it…”

“Shut _uhhhhpp…_ ” she mews. It’s deep and gravelly and it comes from the back of her throat… and he hates that it makes him wonder what her moans would sound like. His biggest goal in life at this moment is to make sure he _never_ hears it through the paper-thin wall that separates his and Archie’s bedrooms.

_He’s gotta stop thinking this kind of shit._

“Well I take that back then. You’re not really nice at all, are you?”

She turns to him, two finished drinks in her hands. She offers one to him and keeps the other for herself. It’s foggy and a strange, purplish color. He has _no_ idea what she’s mixed in it.

“Fancy,” he comments.

“Before you get too impressed, it’s literally just a mixture of everything you have,” she forewarns him, then raises her glass to clink it against his, and they finally get that cheers she’d proposed earlier, back at the bar.

“Why, Betty Cooper, are you trying to get me drunk?” Jughead asks her in mock offense. She just smiles coyly and shrugs and he feels like the rug is yanked out from under him – like the way your stomach drops on a rollercoaster. _Exhilarating_. She’s quite an unusual creature and he might have thought he had her pegged at the bar, but he would gladly spend the rest of his life unraveling and relishing in her mystery.

They drink it down quickly. He doesn’t retch, but he wants to. It’s strong and awful and knowing what a lightweight she is, he knows it’s going to do her in. She strolls into his living room and plops down on his deep blue couch, sinking into the cushions.

“Why am I such a moron?” she groans, closing her eyes and her hand falling over her eyes. She’s back to self-loathing again. Her head falls back into the cushion behind her and he can’t help but trace the curve of her jaw with his eyes. He sits in the chair across from her, his feet up on the coffee table.

“Morons aren’t generally _aware_ that they are morons,” he tells her, some kind of silver-lining. “Therefore, you’re not a moron.”

_Archie’s a moron._

She takes another gulp of her cloudy, colorful drink and winces – although, he knows she’ll never admit how awful it really is. Her arms fall limply to her sides, “you know, I only met Archie two weeks ago-”

“And you already thought he was your _boyfriend?!”_ Jughead laughs, but sobers when he sees she’s not laughing right along with him.

“I don’t know I just… I thought he was… sweet.”

“He’s… _something_ ,” Jughead allows. Betty frowns, sinking even further into the couch and putting her feet up on the coffee table, once again her body language mimicking his.

“You don’t seem to like him very much. Why would you even have him move in here if you feel that way?”

Jughead didn’t mean to sound so bitter, it’s just… he knows guys like Archie. In the couple weeks he’d lived there, he’d already had a steady line of girls rotating in and out like a revolving door. He wasn’t a _bad_ guy, just not cut from the same cloth.

“I know his type,” Jughead answers shortly. She cocks one perfectly groomed eyebrow.

“Oh, like you knew _mine?_ ”

“Precisely.”

“You weren’t right about _everything_ , you know,” she grumbles, another gulp of her concoction. She doesn’t seem to mind the burn anymore, which means she’s beginning to feel it. Jughead rises, bending down to tap her boot that is still resting on the coffee table.

“Okay. _Prove_ it,” he challenges.

“And how am I supposed to do that?”

Jughead’s posture straightens and he looms over her, crossing his arms over his chest, “show me your socks. If I was wrong, I’ll apologize and eat my words.” She bites the plush, soft area of her bottom lip.

“And if you’re right?” she wonders.

He shrugs loosely, “then I get bragging rights. And I’ll never let you live it down. And…” he rushes over to the entertainment center and fetches a DVD from his collection, “you have to stay and watch Casablanca in its _entirety._ ”

She squints at him, her head tilting, “This isn’t a very high-stakes bet-”

“You’re stalling.”

“ _Fine!”_ she nearly shouts, but her tone isn’t sharp – it’s playful and giddy and giggly. She reaches down and yanks off her left boot, tossing it across the room with a 'thunk'. Her sock is light pink.

“Okay, now the other,” he instructs her. She leers back up at him, trying with all her might to contain the urging of a smile from spreading across her lips. She’s _so_ obedient.

She slips her other boot off with ease, and he’s not at all surprised that he was right; and to make the victory even sweeter, it’s a colorful, floral pattern.

“You win,” she sighs in defeat sinking back into the couch and nursing her cocktail. “Start the movie.”

He just smirks down at her.

She doesn’t even realize that they’ve _both_ won.

* * *

 

_To Be Continued..._


	3. ohhh, baby baby it's a wild world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:  Hey guys. Goodness, that was too long since my last update - it will not be happening again. A lot of shit has happened since my last update - as you know my grandpa passed away, I got really sick, had to put all my energy into editing my book for my author’s night… chaos. But it is all clear now and I can focus on finishing this story. xoxo

 

 

 

Jughead finds relatively fast that the beautiful Betty Cooper is not necessarily the easiest person to watch movies with - at least, _drunk_ Betty Cooper isn’t.

They are only halfway through Casablanca and they’ve already paused the movie two times for her to use the bathroom (and once for him, if he’s being honest).

But above all that, she asks countless questions that:

A)    Were already answered

B)    Are _being_ answered while she’s asking them

C)    Are going to _be_ answered soon if she would just freakin’ pay attention.

 

He doesn’t fault her for this, however.

After all, it was _his_ idea to start such a thought-provoking movie in the middle of the night while they were tipsy. _Of course_ she doesn’t have the attention span under these conditions. He knows that if she were sober, she’d have plenty of insight to offer him on the plot, the writing, the dialogue… he’s seen that side of her – she just doesn’t know it.

He’d seen it in her writing. She’s bright and brilliant… but right now, she’s distracted.

“It’s not fair, you know,” he hears her slur softly beside him - a low, quiet rumble. He glances at her sideways and feels his eyebrow pull upward, curiously. She’s slumped down now, more into the cushions. Somehow she’s migrated much closer to him than she’d been when they first started the movie - he can smell her perfume. He’s not complaining.

He sits up a little more erect in his seat, his arms still folded tightly over his chest to keep himself from reaching out to her. He has wanted to put an arm around her for some time but _no_. Not like this. Not under the influence of alcohol. If he _ever_ got a chance to touch Betty Cooper, he would want to know 100% that she wanted it, too.

He would never want to be something she regrets.

“What’s not fair?” he drones back at her in return. “ _Life?_ ”

“No,” Betty hiccups. She thinks for a moment; the alcohol is making her processing time much slower than earlier. She rubs her hands over her face and groans softly. She blinks a few times and sits up a little straighter, “well, _yes_. That _too_. But I meant it’s not fair that you know so much about me… and I don’t know _anything_ about you.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he sighs. He grabs the remote and mutes the movie. No point pretending like they are even following it, anyway. “You don’t know anything about me. I mean, I could be a serial killer for all you know. Maybe I lured you here with my charm and good looks.”

“ _Ha!”_ she snorts loudly.

He turns his head and glares at her, “ _uhh, ouch_ ,” he jests.

“Believe me, you’re charming. And _certainly_ good-looking-”

“I like where this is going,” he quips, turning in his seat toward her. He tries to subdue his stupid smile but it slips out anyway. She laughs, lightly. Her arm snaps out to gently push him at the shoulder. She is going out of her way to touch him… she _likes_ him. She doesn’t know it yet, maybe. But he knows she does. He can tell.

“But I _hardly_ believe you’re a serial killer. Maybe I’d be a little more worried if it wasn’t _me_ who did the breaking in, tonight. That is just far too coincidental to be a part of your master, serial killer plan.” She reaches toward the coffee table to fetch her emptied glass of _whatever-it-was_ , swirling the ice at the bottom to make sure it’s gone for good and there’s no spare sip she’s missed.

“Or so I would have you _believe_ ,” he teases back, darkly. “Maybe I’m just _that_ good.”

She turns to him and he sucks in a quick breath when he sees the smile in her eyes - her body is close to him and he can feel her heat radiating off her in waves.

“Oh, you’re _good_ ,” she assures him, bobbing her head lightly. Her eyes narrow but her smile widens. She tilts her head to the side playfully. She will be the death of him, “but you’re not _that_ good.”

Before Jughead can even begin to formulate a comeback, she pops up onto her feet. She heads to the kitchen with their glasses, her hips sway as though they want him to watch her. She immediately begins mixing another strange combination of alcohol - he should stop her.

“So. Spill. Tell me about yourself,” Betty demands.

But Jughead isn’t one to open up, typically.

“There’s not much to tell.”

“We can start with the obvious,” she suggests as she watches the clear liquid hit the bottom of her glass.

“And that _is?_ ” He gets up and strolls to the kitchen to monitor her pouring. She seems to have no concept of when enough is enough, and he wants to make sure she doesn’t kill herself at this point. She doesn’t seem to have eaten, so he grabs some crackers from the cupboard and opens the box, nudging it in her direction.

“Why do you wear that hat all the time?” she asks, taking a handful of crackers from the box. She bites into one, momentarily forgetting about their drinks with introduction of food. He hands her the whole box and she takes it – he’s grateful. He hopes she eats them all, anything to soak up the swirling alcohol in her belly.

Jughead leans on the counter coolly, “If I didn’t wear this hat, you’d be able to see my skull.”

“Shut up.” There’s that purr again. It does something to him. Everything about her feels like an awakening. Like he’s spent this lifetime sleeping, waiting for her to walk into it and turn it all upside down.

“It’s true. I was born with this horrible condition, and _here_ you are. Laughing at my misery.” He plucks up a cracker from her hand, popping it in his mouth. He scolds her with his mouth full, “ _Rude_ , Betty.” Where are those manners he was going on about before?  
Betty calmly reaches over and snatches the hat from his head before he can stop her. Although he’s inwardly screaming, he lets her. But only for so long.

Betty pulls her kinked, golden hair from its ponytail and slips the beanie on her own head, admiring her reflection in the glass of the microwave. She turns back to him, pouting her lips playfully like a model, “Good look for me, eh?” she asks him.

She has _no_ idea. He takes it back from her and places it back on his head where it belongs. He feels just a little too weird without it.

“You have beautiful hair,” she tells him hazily, wobbly on her feet. Her eyes can’t seem to focus on him, but they are sure trying to. She’s drunk. Drunker than drunk. She’s a few gulps away from blacking out. She’s going to hate herself tomorrow.

He just smiles sweetly at her, handing her the box of crackers again as a reminder. She digs in again.

“Next question,” Jughead says. He very sneakily pulls her glass away and dumping it down the drain. She doesn’t even notice.

“I have a feeling you’re really good at deflecting,” she observes, a cracker almost falling from her hand as she fumbles to catch it.

Before he can respond, there’s a loud buzzing noise that resonates around the apartment, cutting through their moment. It came from her cellphone on the coffee table in the living room. They both glance at each other questioningly, and soon Betty leaves his side to investigate. Jughead’s eyes flit to the clock on the stove: 3:47 am. His stomach sinks a bit, because only _one_ kind of text message comes in the wee hours of morning.

She’s out in the living room now, staring intensely at her bright cellphone screen. She picks at her lip, squinting to get her eyes to focus on the message. Soon her gaze lifts from the phone, wide and big as saucers when she looks back at Jug. He already knows what she’s about to say before she says it.

“It’s Archie.”

“Uh-huh,” he hums. His face remains stoic - he definitely doesn’t want her to see that it bothers him. Not that he has any _right_ to feel that way. She doesn’t belong to him. She is fierce and a force to be reckoned with, she belongs to _no one_. She just doesn’t know it quite yet. But he sees the fire within her with every smirk and every comeback - he has read the innermost thoughts of her heart and head in her passionate writings in class.

Archie will _never_ see that in her. He would take those things for granted, never nurture them. He’s seen it before: after so long, her spirit would become crushed and she’d give up on those parts of herself to fit into the mold that he shapes for her, without even realizing he’s doing it.

She brings the phone to him, although he never asked to see it. Regardless he looks down at the stupid, middle-of-the-night text message:

 

 **Archie [3:47 am]:** Miss u! :-*

 

“Wh-what should I say?”

She’s fidgeting with her hands nervously, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Her entire demeanor has changed within an instant, just because of a dumb text from someone who couldn’t even be bothered enough to spell out the word “ _you_ ” or even use a complete sentence, for that matter.

“Oh, I know!” he tells her with feigned excitement. Her eyes widen even more, as though that were even possible.

“What?”

The fake, awed look on his face drops as he hands the phone back to her, dropping it in her hands and flatly saying, “absolutely _nothing._ ”

He crosses the room, heading back to the couch - he can feel her eyes burning into the back of him, watching him every step of the way. He sits back on the couch, watching the muted Humphrey Bogart on the television screen. Things feel soured, now. So quickly. He doesn’t want it to, but his face feels hot with jealousy and he hates it.

“I’m gonna tell him off!” she replies, hotly. That gets him to turn his head and glance at her over his shoulder. Her eyes dart between his face and the phone in her hand. She’s getting herself all worked up.

“Oh, are you now?”

 “ _Yeah_. I’m gonna tell him what a _jerk_ he is for standing me up and leading me on. How if he’d actually _showed up_ tonight he wouldn’t _have_ to miss me and that he can’t treat people this way-”

“Well, _sure_ ,” Jughead shrugs. He rests his chin on the back of the couch. “But in all honesty… is he really _worth_ all that effort, Betts?” She freezes up a bit, as though she’s caught off guard by the new nickname. He’s not even sure where it came from, it just fell out of his mouth with too much ease - like they’ve known each other forever. He clears his throat, “I mean… texts like _that…_ at _this_ hour? They only usually mean one thing. He’s probably wasted, anyway.”

“ _I’m_ wasted,” she replies, and he chuckles a bit. It really has nothing to do with what they are talking about.

“Yes, you _sure_ are.” Her cheeks puff out before she lets out a long exhale. She closes her eyes and shakes her head.

“I can’t believe I let myself fall for him,” she says, kicking herself. Jughead reaches over, his hand resting on her shoulder. He leans in and her eyes flutter open, her lips slightly parted and her breathing shallow. He uses his free hand to move the lock of blond hair from in front of her eyes.

“Try giving… a _little_ less of a shit, Betty.” She huffs out a laugh, her hand finding her forehead as she shakes her head again.

“How’d you get to be so smart?” she asks him. She reaches her finger up and taps his forehead. “That brain condition of yours?” Jughead moves from her before he can’t stop himself from kissing her, coolly easing himself back into the couch.

“Well, I’d say I’m more cynical than smart.”

“How’d you get to be so cynical?” she corrects. His mouth drops ever so slightly and he can’t seem to take his eyes from her awaiting face. “I mean… who hurt you to make you this way?”

He nearly chokes.

“Whoa, _now_ we’re gettin’ in a little deep for a 4 am conversation, dontcha think?” he digresses. He’s never been good at opening up to people, and he’s _not_ about to start now.

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” she nearly whispers. She’s leaning in toward him, and he can tell she wants him to kiss her. Her eyes flit from his eyes and down to his lips, then back.

“Likewise,” he croaks back, his voice low and raspy. He’s _never_ wanted to kiss someone so badly. His lips are tingling just thinking about what it would feel like. “But… that’s a conversation for another time.”

Using every bit of internal strength he has left in him, Jughead moves from the couch, pretending like he needs to stretch. _Maybe_ this was a bad idea. As much as he loves having her here, he’s not sure how much more he can contain himself if she keeps _looking_ at him like that. Like she wants him as much as she wants her. She can’t possibly. He’s wanted her for months, knowing almost nothing about her at first. She only just figured out that he even exists.

Betty gets up and stretches too. When she turns, he notices her noticing his extensive record collection on the other side of the living room. She points at the record player.

“ _Can_ I?”

“Sure… but just know I’ll be judging you by whatever album you pick… so choose wisely.” She gleefully crouches down to examine the records and he watches as her fingers delicately glide against each one. She’s making her choice carefully. Then her finger rests upon one record specifically and she glances over her shoulder at him.

“ _No_ peeking,” she tells him. He’s genuinely curious, but at the same time he wants to be surprised. So, he does as she asks and looks away. Casablanca is still playing on the screen with no sound. It’s almost the end: Rick is making Ilsa board the plane. And although he can’t hear what they are saying, he knows it by heart. He is telling her that she would regret it if she stayed behind for him - _"Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life."_

He lets himself wonder what it’s like to love someone that much.

He can hear her fumbling around with the record player, and soon the familiar, warm, crackling sound of vinyl fills the room. A familiar song begins, and he feels one side of his mouth curve up in a smirk. As she has done so many times tonight, her song choice surprises him: _Wild World. Cat Stevens_. He would have figured her for a love-song kinda girl.

She hums quietly with the music, dragging her feet back over to the couch and collapsing lazily onto it once more. She rests her mismatched feet on his lap - it’s so intimate. Like they’ve been doing this their whole life. Like they are a couple, years down the road where everything is comfortable and second nature to them. He longs to feel that one day.

“Didn’t figure you for a Cat Stevens kinda girl,” he comments. She cracks one eye open, sitting up a bit.

“I guess you don’t know me as much as you thought, huh?”

He chuckles lowly, shaking his head. She is somethin’ else.

“I guess _not_. We still have a lot to learn about each other.”

“I wish I’d met you a long time ago,” she tells him softly, so quietly he almost missed it.

“You met me now.”

Betty doesn’t take her eyes off him as she sits up, twising her legs under herself to rest on her knees. Jughead freezes, watching her move with such confidence and determination. Her hand rests on his cheek as she brings herself even closer to him, her body right up against his.

She’s drunk. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.

He should really stop her.

“Betts-” he attempts, swallowing hard. His discipline is wavering, his resolve melting as his eyes flutter closed. He can feel her breath on him. His hand reaches up and his fingers wrap around her tiny wrist. He wants to push her away, wants to tell her to get some sleep-

She suddenly jolts from him quickly, leaning over the side of the couch and losing her stomach all over the living floor. Jughead is equal parts relieved, worried, and amused. He sits up, holding her hair back to keep it from coming in contact with the bright, purple vomit that is now on his hardwood floors.

He laughs and rubs her back, shushing her when she begins instantly apologizing. Cat Stevens keeps crooning in the background, “ohh, baby baby it’s a wild world. Hard to get by just upon a smile.”

“Oh, you're just gonna puke right here then?"

“I’m sorry,” she tells him, a sob in her throat.

“It’s okay. Let it out. I kinda knew it was coming.”

She sits up, her cheeks pink from embarrassment and the exertion of violently getting sick, “I need to clean this up-” she says, trying to stand but she is suddenly so weak. He lays her back on the couch, getting up instead.

“Hey, c’mon now. I’m a bartender. It’s not the first time I’ve taken care of a drunk person, so…” He watches as she curls up on the couch, closing her eyes and groaning, most assuredly passing out.

Jughead gets the mess cleaned up and once it’s all taken care of, he gently shakes her awake, “C’mon, Betts. Wake up. You’ll feel better tomorrow if you drink this.” She groans again, blindly slapping his hand away from her. He snickers and tries again, “you need to drink some water. C’mon…” He sets the cold glass of water against her forehead and it makes her eyes lazily open. She sits up slowly, letting him hand her two Tylenol and the glass.

“Thanks,” she grumbles.

“You got it?” he asks, making sure the glass of water isn’t about to come toppling down to the ground. But she sits up more and downs the whole glass. After she’s done he takes it from her and sets it down.

“C’mon,” he tells her, taking her hand and helping her up. “You can sleep in my bed.”

She doesn’t put up a fight, just stumbles beside him down the hall and into his bedroom. She collapses down onto the bed, curling up and snuggling up to his pillows.

“Are you gonna be sick again?” he makes sure to ask. He doesn’t want to clean up two instances of alcohol-induced-vomiting tonight.  
“Hmm-mmm…” she mumbles, shaking her head.

“Okay, good,” he tells her softly. “Get some rest-“

“Wait,” she says. Her eyes never open, but her hand reaches out toward him, “stay here. Stay here with me,” she asks. Jughead pauses, looking between her and the door of his bedroom – it was the last thing he was expecting. But how can he say no to her? Especially when her soft, green eyes open and she looks at him pleadingly, “please?”

“Alright,” he finally relents, slipping off his shoes, one at a time. He can’t help but think he might regret this. Betty scoots over, giving him room to slide into the vacant spot beside her. He lays down and she crawls over next to him, laying her head on his chest and holding onto him.

“G’night, Juggie,” she whispers.

“Night, Betts.” Jughead leans over and clicks off the lamp, feeling like the luckiest guy in the world and letting sleep quickly overtake him as well.

* * *

 

_To Be Continued..._


	4. if it's not too much trouble, can you stay forever?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A gift for all my distraught bughead shippers right now. <3 Hang in there, guys. They are endgame.

 

Jughead dreams of flowers that night.

He dreams of running pink petals along soft, milky skin. Of daisy crowns in golden, willowy hair.

He stirs a time or two, turning over in a small panic to see that she hasn’t left. She’s _still_ there.

Because Jughead expects to wake up to an empty bed – he’s quite terrified of it, actually. That at some time within the wee hours of morning, Betty will wake up. She’ll blink away the sleep from her eyes in the darkness, take in her foreign surroundings, realize where she is, and sneak off into the night.

That’s how it always happens in movies, _right?_

But when he awakes to see quiet morning light pouring through his window he finds that, miraculously, she is still there: a beautiful disaster snoring softly beside him.

Cat Stevens is stuck in his head: _baby I love you but if you wanna leave, take good care, hope you have a lot of nice things to wear but just remember there’s a lot of bad and beware._

It takes a few moments for him actually to process just what is happening, and once his brain begins to unfog, he remembers the events of the night before. He still can’t seem to wrap his head around it, still can’t figure out how in the world he got so lucky to be sharing a bed with the girl he’d been watching from afar for the last few months.

He doesn’t even mind that his arm is securely stuck, lodged between her slumbering head and the pillow. He doesn’t want to wake her; this is _one_ hangover she should be sleeping off. Regardless, he can’t resist the urge to turn his body ever so slightly toward her and brush the messy, frizzing hair from her face. He lets himself pretend for a moment that this just like every other morning. That she is his.

She is literally a sleeping angel beside him

Sure, he’d cleaned up her vomit only five hours ago.

But right _now?_ There was pretty much nothing in the world more perfect than the calm, serene look on her face as she slept beside him. She slipped off her blouse sometime in the night and now only wears a lavender tank top. Her bare shoulder has sunlight glowing off of it and it’s driving him crazy.

His cell phone ringing from across the room pulls him from his current thoughts of admiration. He watches as Betty’s eyebrows pull together and her round lips twist into an annoyed pout. She’s so expressive, even sleeping. She groans, hiding her head under a pillow as she rolls away from the intrusive sound. It is then that he sees her simple, hand-drawn styled rose tattoo on her shoulder. It’s subtle, small. Sweet with clean edges.

But a flower, nonetheless.

_Of course._

With his arm free, Jughead jumps out of bed to silence his phone on his dresser. He clears his throat, whispering a cackled “ _hello?_ ” and then he ducks out of the room to let her sleep.

“Jug, it’s Toni,” says the voice on the other end of the phone. He already knew that from the caller ID. Toni is another bartender down at the bar, and possibly his only semi-friend he has in this town. And because of this, he has a pretty strong feeling what she is calling him at 9:00 am for.

“Topaz. That’s weird, I was just thinking about you.”

“Wait… _really?_ ”

“Nope.”

“Aw, you almost got me all hot and bothered,” she replies flatly. He chuckles, despite being so tired.  

“What’s up?” he asks anyway. He rubs his eyes and yawns on his way to the kitchen as he begins to clean up the bottles and glasses from the night before.

“I know it’s kinda short notice, but I need you to cover for me this afternoon. I feel like shit,” she tells him, matter-of-factly. She doesn’t sound sick. “I think I’m coming down with something.”

“Uh- _huh…”_ Jughead says, unconvinced. “Right. and you feeling like shit has _nothing_ to do with sneaking off upstate with your girlfriend yesterday now, would it?”

There’s a long, guilty pause on the other end.

“How… wait, how did you _know_ that?”

“I have my ways,” Jughead replies cryptically as he sets the coffee pot - he’s not typically one to function on less than ten hours of sleep, and last night he only got five. He shrugs despite Toni not being able to see him, “Also, fake-sick Pro-tip: you might not want to post it on Facebook.”

“Okay, alright, fine,” she surrenders.

“Shame on you.”

“Look, I didn’t ask Terry for the time off because he’s a dick.”

“Sound logic.” Their boss Terry _is_ a dick.

“So? Can you cover for me or do I need to head back?” He looks down the hall and can see Betty sleeping through the slightly ajar crack of his bedroom door. He feels slightly let down that he won’t be able to convince her to hang out with him all day, now that his day off is shot. He sighs in resignation. Money is money, and what else is he supposed to do?

“Fine. I’ll cover for you but you owe me.”

“I’ll take your shift tomorrow.” He nods to himself. That will work. It’s certainly better than nothing.

“ _Deal._ ”

Jughead gets off the phone and contemplates hopping in a quick shower while the coffee maker grumbles, filling the whole apartment with the smell of morning. Before he can make a decision, he sees Betty appear in the doorway of his room, looking a little worse for wear: Her finally-dry blouse is back, although misbuttoned. Dark circles pool under her eyes and she’s pale with dehydration. He holds back the chuckle that wants to escape from his throat.

“Well... good _morning_ , sunshine,” Jughead chirps, and not even ironically. Her wild blonde hair has made a halo around her head and she literally looks like the sun.

Her demeanor, he finds, is far less than ‘ _sunny’_ , however.

“ _Uuuuggghhh_ ,” she moans in return, dragging her feet up to his kitchen counter and pulling herself up on a barstool. She claws her nails through her hair and yawns so big he can see her tonsils. They’re lovely. She then rests her wobbly head in her hands, weakly.

“Not feelin’ too hot, are you?” he deduces, placing two more Tylenol on the counter along with a tall, cold glass of water in front of her.

“I think I might still be drunk,” she hiccups. She picks up the Tylenol and shows them to him before popping them in her mouth. “Thanks,” she says, her words muffled before she swallows it down.

“No problem,” he smirks, turning from her to pour a cup of coffee. When he turns back to Betty, her eyes have widened with envy.

“ _Oooohhhh…_ Is that what I _think_ it is?”

“If you think it’s hot bean water, then you are correct.” He sets the mug gently in front of her.

“For _me?_ ” her hoarse voice squeaks. It’s adorable. And it’s pretty obvious that it _is_ for her. She’s back to being polite again. Needs to check and seek permission just to take a sip. She’s not like other girls he’s met: the ones who feel entitled or like they deserve some kind of special treatment just because they have long pretty hair and batting eyelashes.

“Wow, you’ve guessed two outta two. We might need to put you on a game show or something-”

Betty brings the mug thankfully to her lips, but utters out a long, drawn out “ _hushhhhh_.” The sound echoes back at her from her cup before she takes a sip.

“You’re not really a morning person, are you?” He receives a death glare in return, which immediately answers that question.

_What a sweetheart._

She takes two more sips and sets the coffee mug down. She lazily brings her matted hair up into a loose bun on the top of her head. She leans back in her seat and sighs, letting the caffeine hit her, “you may speak now.”

“Hungry?” He doesn’t know why he asked her that. Crackers were the extent of his current groceries. He thinks he might have a few eggs left in the fridge. Luckily for Jug, she just shakes her head. She accidentally lets out a slight burp, and he wonders if he should steer her toward the bathroom.

“I don’t trust I’d be able to keep it down.” There is a long, quiet pause between them before her emerald eyes flicker to his. It’s electric. She has to feel it too, he thinks to himself. She bites the soft, pink flesh of her bottom lip and he thinks about what she tastes like.

“Well, I was just about to hop in the shower real quick if you wanted to, um-” He gets caught up in her eyes and his own thoughts, and the end of his sentence escapes him. He’s stumbling over his words and ultimately looking like a fool. She narrows her gaze at him and smiles slyly at his fumbling.

“ _Is…_ that supposed to be an invitation?” she wonders, causing him to practically choke.

“What? _No_ ,” he laughs, then sobers his face. He must be bright red. “NO.” He says more sternly. “I was just going to say to make yourself at home.”

“ _Mmm-hmm_ ,” She teases him, skeptically. Oh God how he wishes he were smoother than this. He could have easily played off of their banter but he’s too tired, damn it.

The moment passes. She adjusts her blouse onto her shoulder better, hiding away that flower tattoo, and sits up in her chair. Her eyes find the clock behind him.

“I actually think I wore out my welcome here back when I puked all over your floor,” she sighs, gesturing toward the cleaning supplies that are still there at ground zero. “I should really get going, I think. My head is throbbing. Needless to say, I don’t feel all too great right now.”

He wants to be dramatic, tell her not to ever walk out of his life now that she’s finally - _finally_ \- walked into it.

He wants to ask her when he can see her again. It’s like Cinderella, leaving the ball all too soon.

“Okay. Maybe I’ll, uh… Maybe I’ll see you around.” He leans on the counter, watching her take a couple extra sips of her coffee. She slides off the barstool, walking around the apartment like a zombie as she collects her things. He goes to help her, despite wishing she could stay forever.

Because what is Jughead Jones, if not a gentleman?

They meet in the middle, each holding a boot they fetched from opposite ends of the living room. She takes it from him, a small smirk on those perfect lips of hers.  His breathing halts as she perks up onto her tiptoes and presses a kiss against his cheek. He wants to grab her and kiss her for real, but he just can’t bring himself to do it. If he just turned his head ever so slightly, he could.

“Come by the bar sometime,” is the only stupid thing he can think to say.

“Thanks,” she smiles, bright and beaming. “For _everything_. I’m… I’m _really_ glad I met you.”

He smiles back - it’s probably not nearly as lovely as hers.

“I’m glad I met you, too, Betty Cooper.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

_“…she thinks about walking right out into that green, swirling water and never coming out again – dissipating into foam, becoming a part of the sea. Just like the end of ‘The Little Mermaid’ – The real one. The one that isn’t as happy. Because fairytales don’t exist in her world, anymore. The prince doesn’t awaken the princess with a kiss and ride off into the sunset. There is only this; empty, beautiful moments that mean nothing to her, now.”_

 

Jughead leans across the bar, his eyes drinking in the pages of Betty’s most recent school assignment – the last one before the break.

He shouldn’t even have it. But as the TA, he’d made the unethical decision to print off copies of her work, just so he could pick her mind. It was a creepy, bad habit that he hadn’t stopped. And it never bothered him before, but now that he’d actually spoken to her, he couldn’t help but feel a little weird about it now.

 _Especially_ when the bell above the front door interrupts him from his reading, and it’s _her_ walking into the bar. _‘That was fast,’_ he thinks to himself as he crinkles the paper, stuffing it down in his pocket before he’s caught with it. His heart in his throat but he keeps his cool.

“ _Betty Cooper…_ you just can’t get enough of me, can you?” Jughead teases as she approaches the bar. She’s looking much more put together than before, but he can’t help but notice she’s _still_ wearing the exact same clothes from yesterday - like a walk of shame. He doesn’t know why he feels slightly proud of that, even if nothing happened.

She smiles at him and he feels a flutter in his chest and a drop in his stomach just knowing it’s meant for him. She walks up to the bar and he sets down a napkin.

“How’s that hangover treating you?” he wonders.

Her smile stretches, but strains. She gives a sheepish bob of her pretty little head, “it could definitely be better.”

“I’ll make you a Bloody Mary.”

“Oh, _no_. Ew,” she winces. Her arms come up to lazily rest on the countertop and she begins to pick at the white napkin absently.

“Oh, _c’mon_ ,” Jughead pressures. He’s already pulling out the Bloody Mary mix and top-shelf vodka. “Everyone knows it’s a _surefire_ hangover cure. All the vitamins you could need… which, you _do_ need. I saw you puke, remember?”

“ _Okay…_ ” she says, uncertainly, “I can’t promise I’ll like it though. So don’t be offended.”

“I choked down your God-awful drinks last night. You can at least _pretend_ to like mine.”

“Hey, Romeo!” Terry calls across the bar, giving Jughead a knowing glance, “quit flirting and get pouring. I have a table still waiting for their drinks.”

“Alright, Terry. Don’t have a conniption,” Jughead snaps back at him. He knocks the wooden bar with his hands and gives Betty a quick wink, “Be right back.” She gives him a soft, shy smile in return and then he can literally feel her watching him walk away. This is decidedly much better than all of his bumbling this morning.

Terry’s not amused, however, muttering off a threat, “you better watch that mouth of yours, kid or you will be out on your ass so fast-”

Jughead rolls his eyes and calmly tells Terry to shove it. Their banter is like this most of the time, so he’s not too concerned. One moment they are worst enemies, and the next he’s asking Jughead to feed his cat while he’s away for a weekend. And despite all the razzing, Jughead _likes_ Terry. He’s an angry, middle-aged man with a barely-successful bar. Jughead can only hope to be so lucky one day.

Jughead begins to pour the beers for the table across the bar when Terry’s at his side.

“She’s cute,” he tells her lowly, slapping him on the back. “ _Don’t_ fuck it up.”

“Thanks for the pep talk, Terry. You _really_ have a way with words,” Jughead deadpans without even looking at him. He’s trying to focus on pouring from the taps, which was _so_ much easier before the flaxen-haired goddess returned to the scene of the crime, rendering him incapable of remembering a simple drink order.

_Now… Was it Drop Top Amber Ale or Blue Moon?_

He barely cares, so he just picks one at random and starts to pour. But he can’t help but watch her instead of the beer mug. He wants to study her as he’s become accustomed to in class. Why is she back? Was she really that lonely?

“Hey! _Watch_ what you’re _doing!_ ” Terry scolds, just as the beer overflows the glass and spills out over his hand, down the back bar, onto the already grimy cement floor. “A monkey can pour beer better than you!” Terry grumbles. Jughead curses under his breath and shuts off the tap, wipes his wet hands on his dishrag. When he side-eyes Betty, she’s giggling behind her hand.

_Focus._

He gets it together enough to at least get his order done, and Terry shoots him a quick glare before he takes the beers to the awaiting table. Jughead bends down, cleaning the spilled beer.

“What brings you back here, anyway?” he asks her over his shoulder.

“ _Well…_ this is actually kind of embarrassing now, but.... I needed to ask you a really weird favor.” Jughead stands, tossing his dirtied rag into a bin and fetches a clean one. His hands are sticky from the beer disaster from before.

“Should I feel as nervous as I do right now?” Jughead muses, leaning on his elbows on the bar across from her as coolly as he can muster. Betty leans forward too, mimicking his body language.

She cocks an eyebrow, “I dunno. _Should_ you?

He chuckles, beginning to fashion together a Bloody Mary. She watches on warily.

“So… what’s this favor?”

“Okay, hear me out. Because it might seem a little crazy…”

“Listen… if this favor involves _Archie…_ ”

She shakes her head quickly, her hand reaching out to rest on his arm. He’s wrong.

“Oh, no. Not at all.” His eyes linger on her hands, her light pink polish on the nails that are slightly digging into his arm.

Without meaning to, he wonders what it would feel like to have them scratching down his back.

He shakes the thought away as quickly as it came but even the short image flashing in his mind makes his cheeks warm. He slides her the Bloody Mary.

“It’s hot,” he tells her, his voice cracks.

“Excuse me?”

“The drink. It’s spicy. That’s the only way to have it. Otherwise, it just tastes like marinara.” She hesitates, looking the drink up and down. She finally picks out the green olive, setting it between her lips. He has to look away. _Is she trying to be this seductive? Is she a sea siren?_

“Well, then? Out with it. The suspense is killing me,” he says, averting his gaze to the freshly washed glasses in front of them that need drying. She bravely takes a sip of her Bloody Mary, and looks a little surprised, but intrigued. She reaches into her purse and roots around.

“Okay so… so I left your apartment this morning and when I got to _miiiine…_ ” Her words trail and she pulls a folded piece of paper out of her purse and slides it across the bar like it’s some secret message he needs to decipher.

It’s not.

“What is _this?_ ” he laughs, opening the paper.

It’s a notice from her campus apartment management:

 

 **REMINDER** : Spring Break Fumigation

Please remember **_EAST CAMPUS APARTMENTS_** will be closed off for fumigation due to a bedbug infestation. Please make alternate arrangements prior to Wednesday, March 22nd.

 

“I guess we got the notice a week or two ago? But my roommate never showed me. So I got home and this was on the front of the building… which was covered by a giant _tent-_ ”

“-being fumigated,” he deduces.

“Right.”

“Bedbugs?”

“Yup.”

“Bummer.”

She shrugs, hopelessly, “I guess they thought it was a good time because so many of the students would be away and…” she looks at him with those doe eyes and bites her bottom lip again. Every time she does that he thinks his knees might give out. She clearly wants him to finish her sentence, wants him to offer so she wouldn’t even have to ask.

He clears his throat and tries not to look as excited about this as he feels.

“So… you’re needing a place to stay.”

“I know. It’s weird. I just met you and all but… everyone I know went home for the break. I literally have no other options. Except the Motel 6-” she cuts herself off, her eyes searching his pleadingly. She clasps her hands together over her chest, “Please take pity on me? I _swear_ I’ll stay out of your liquor cabinet...”

Jughead cannot believe the universe and the way this is all unfolding. He knows his mouth is agape, so he closes it before he looks like a fish.

“You’re not staying at a Motel 6, what are you _insane? Of course_ you can stay with me - _er…_ at my place.” A slow, heart-melting smile stretches across her lips and her eyes are glistening. She’s _moved_. His prayers have been answered. He doesn’t just get another day with Betty Cooper: He gets the rest of the _week_.

She takes another gulp of her Bloody Mary. She’s coming around to the taste of it - he can tell just by her face. It’s so expressive that he thinks he’s beginning to be able to read her, just by the faces she makes.

“Jughead, if you don’t get back to work-” Terry starts to gripe again from the other side of the bar. He really does need to focus.

“I’ll get you a key-”

“No need,” she smirks, holding up the one she’d found under the mat the night before. “I already have one.”

 

_____

 

_To Be Continued..._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 


	5. like it's the most normal thing in the world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: I’m a jerk and this has been 88% done for three weeks but I got so busy I didn’t finish it. I promise now that the holidays are over the rest of the updates for this fic will be more timely.

 

* * *

Jughead can hear the music from the hallway, blaring out from under his front door:  _ Let’s Stay Together.  _ Al Green.

As  _ if _ a sexier song ever existed in the history of music.

At first, he thinks it might be coming from his neighbor’s. But the closer he gets, clearer it is that it’s coming from apartment A4.

His elderly neighbor, Marv - who  _ also  _ happens to be a regular at the bar - pops his head out of his front door like he’s been waiting for him. He gives Jughead a disapproving scowl and wastes no time before starting in on him, scolding in a very played out, cranky-old-man sorta way, “You wanna tell your guest to have a little consideration for your neighb-”

Jughead just rolls his eyes, waving him off, “Oh,  _ pipe  _ down, Marv. It’s only 7 pm. Just turn up the volume on Jeopardy if you can’t hear it.”

Marv’s frown deepens and he slams his door, but not before grumbling something about disrespectful, little,  _ shithead millennials _ .

“I don’t complain when you have your bridge buddies over!” Jughead calls after him through the closed door, then just chuckles to himself and shakes his head.  _ Normally _ , this kind of thing would bother him, but knowing just what’s waiting behind his door makes him too excited - actually, it’s the  _ not  _ knowing that is making him excited.

She’s always keeping him guessing.

He turns the knob on his front door, pushes it open, and the loudness of the music intensifies:  _ “Ohh, baby leeeet’s… let’s stay together (gether!), lovin’ you whether… whether things are good or bad or happy or sad…” _

The first thing Jughead notices (other than the fact that she is quite possibly trying to seduce him with such a sexy song choice) is that she cleaned the place. There are scented candles lit here and there, the smell of dinner cooking fills his nose. He slinks in further and spies her in the kitchen. She’s just obliviously (and tortuously) swaying her hips, dancing. She is shaking what the good Lord gave her as she stirs whatever’s cooking - and something stirs inside of him, as well.

When she spins around and catches him in the entryway, she isn’t startled. Instead, her eyes light up. And for a split second, Jughead lets himself imagine that they are an older married couple and he’s just returned from a long day at work.

“Why, Honey! You’re home!” she shouts over the music, and it makes his stomach do that drop thing it’s been doing whenever she says or does something that simply melts him. And while he  _ knows  _ she’s just being silly, but it’s almost as though she can read his thoughts entirely. She reaches for the stereo remote and brings the music down.

“Smells great in here,” he tells her, casually shrugging off his jacket. When she rounds the kitchen counter to greet him with a goblet of red wine, she’s wearing a new outfit and she’s freshened up: Her hair is down and wavy, as though she just let it dry that way. 

_ Very Aphrodite _ . 

She’s wearing slim-fitting blue jeans. A flowy, floral top.

_ Of course. _

No socks. No shoes. 

Pink toenails.

She’s made herself at home and nothing has ever looked  _ so _ good in his apartment- he wants to set her on the mantle like a work of art. A conversation piece. An original Betty Cooper - priceless.

She hands him the wine glass, he eyes it carefully.

“What, you didn’t learn your lesson last night?” he teases. She clinks her wine glass with his, coyly smiling.

“I hope you like spa- _ gheeeeh _ -tti…” she sings back to him.

“ _ Believe _ me. When it comes to food, it’s very hard to offend me. I like everything. ” He takes a sip and looks around the apartment. The music is playing softer now and she’s made a fire in his never-used fireplace. Everything is so tidy. He’s never been much of a slob, but the idea of her rooting around in his things makes him a little embarrassed.

“You really didn’t have to clean up-”

“It’s the least I can do. I would be on the  _ streets _ if it weren’t for you, Jug,” she tells him melodramatically, and he laughs because he can’t tell if she is serious or not. Before he can decide, she turns, her golden hair floating around her shoulders as she bounces back into the kitchen.

“How was work?” she asks him, as if it is the most normal thing in the world. And maybe it is, but he finds so much merit in the normalcy of it all. It feels like she’s always been here - that there was never a time that she wasn’t. He hops up onto the counter, watching her as she uses such precision to measure the proper amount of pasta for her sauce. She bites her bottom lip as she eyeballs the noodles and drops them into the boiling water.

“Oh, you know. Work was work. Same old drunkards, same old happy hour coworkers that have to announce that ‘ _ it’s five o’clock somewhere! _ ’ at 4:30 pm every night to feel better about their premature post-work drinks.”

“Wow, Jug. Why don’t you tell me how you _ really _ feel,” she teases as she stirs the noodles - they are softening and slipping into the pot. Jughead just watches her and can’t seem to push the feelings of domestic bliss from his mind.  

“I see you went shopping,” he observes. He quickly averts his eyes from her chest when he realizes he’s staring. He clears his throat, awkwardly. “I uh… I like your top.”

“ _ Yeah _ , as much as I would love to hang out in the same clothes for a week, I figured I’d dip into my savings a bit. Considering I can’t get into my apartment anytime, soon.”

“I still can’t believe your roommate never told you about it,” Jughead chuckles, shaking his head and taking a piece of garlic bread to nibble on, “Thank god you didn’t have a cat or something…” Betty’s head falls back and she laughs. She looks over her shoulder at him, “I _ know  _ right-” She stops suddenly, turning to face him. The color from her face has drained as Betty’s hand snaps up to her lips, “oh, my God.  _ Qwerty… _ ” she whispers. Jughead’s eyes widen and he nearly chokes on his wine.

“Wait, you actually  _ had  _ a cat in there?!” he exclaims through coughs. She shamefully hangs her head,

“Goldfish…”

“ _ Wow.”  _ Jughead breathes, shaking his head mournfully. “RIP Squirty.”

“ _ Qwerty,” _ she corrects. She huffs out a quick, nervous laugh but stifles it, her face sobering. “And that’s not funny.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Betty.” She groans into her hands, trying to keep from crying and Jughead is not so dense that he doesn’t realize when someone needs a hug. He hops down for the counter, bringing her close and wrapping her up in his arms. She lets out one quick sob but then laughs through her tears.

“Sorry, this is so dumb-” she tries to tell him, muffled into his shirt. He can feel her warm breath permeating through the fabric. “It’s just a fish.”

“It’s not dumb,” he assures her, setting his cheek on the top of her head. He can smell the lavender from her shampoo. “To be honest, I’d be a little concerned if you weren’t upset. At least we know you’re not a sociopath.” Her head pops up and she smiles up at him, her eyes still glistening.

Jughead’s breath hitches for the millionth time since he’s met her because this is it. This is the _perfect_ moment to kiss her-

But then the water begins to boil over, and Betty yanks herself from him to remove the pot from the stove and Jughead just stands there, his arms never feeling emptier than in this very moment.

“Dinner’s ready,” she tells him, sniffing away the last of her emotion regarding her dearly departed Qwerty. 

Jughead steps past her to get into the cabinet, bringing down two plates. They work in tandem, like a perfectly coordinated dance to get dinner served. Jughead makes a note in his head that this, this right here, is intimacy. Things coming naturally and smoothly to two people without a second thought. He sneaks a glance at her as she is concentrating, draining the pot of noodles, and he wonders if she’s thinking these crazy things, too.

He hopes to God that she is. 

* * *

 

As if Betty Cooper isn’t remarkable enough, she’s also an excellent cook. They sit on pillows in the living room, laughing over their empty plates and finishing off the bottle of wine and Jughead thinks it might be the best meal he’s had since… well, since forever.

He compliments her, and of course, she’s modest about it. So he changes the subject to him and something they have in common: 

“Is that something you really love? Writing?” he asks her. It’s a dumb question that he already knows the answer to. But he could listen to her talk forever. She sighs wistfully, a warm smile on her lips and pink on her cheeks. He can almost sense the passion exuding from her like a pheromone.

“I guess I sort of came by it honestly.  My parents run the local newspaper back where I’m from.”

“No kidding.”

“I kid you not.  _ Yeah… _ ” There’s a reminiscent glow in her eyes as she stares past him, pulling a memory from the back of her mind, scratching a part of her brain she doesn’t visit often. “I  _ um… _ ” she giggles, “I used to run around everywhere with this little notepad, interviewing people and investigating things.” She mimes a notepad and pen in her hands as though she’s putting on a play for only him. “I was  _ so _ nosy, I couldn’t stay out of everyone’s business. I wanted to be Nancy Drew meets Diane Sawyer meets Wonder Woman.” She huffs out a loud, embarrassed laugh, groaning into her hands, “gosh, no wonder nobody liked me growing up!”

He smiles. He finds _ that _ hard to believe.

He can picture her, then: a lopsided ponytail, ragged from the tree-climbing and spying. Pink, sun-touched cheeks and freckles across her nose. Grass stains.

Jughead wonders if she always shares these stories, or if they are unearthed somewhere inside of her, only to be revealed to those noble and lucky enough to hear them. He has never met someone who made him so desperately hang on their every word. 

He wants to  _ know _ . He wants to _ know it all _ .

He wants to exhume her past and study her like a science - connect her freckles like constellations of stars in the sky. Discover the topography of her body-

“What about you?” she wonders when she sees him lost in thought. Jughead shakes his head.

“No, no I didn’t want to be Wonder Woman.” Betty’s head falls back with laughter. He loves making her laugh like that. Deep, full, belly laughs. They rumble deep inside of her, bursting joy from her lips.

He doesn’t mean to stare.  _ But my God, _ does she even realize how exquisite she is? He suddenly understands muses as he thinks of how he would describe her on paper.  He could fill a book rambling on about her laugh alone:  _ It trilled and curled at the edges, like a woodwind section of a symphony playing his favorite song. _

He wonders when he became so eloquent - non-fiction and true-crime have always been his bread and butter, but Betty Cooper makes Jughead Jones  _ a poet _ .

“No, I mean, do you write, too?” she wonders before polishing off the bottom her wine glass. She catches herself, “I guess that’s a silly question, considering our class, but…  _ what _ do you write?”

“My writing has always been for me,” he tells her simply. “I don’t really share it.” 

Betty smirks at him coyly, leaning over the table to pour more wine into his glass,  “ _Hmm…_ maybe if I get you drunk, you’ll change your mind.” Once again, their faces are close. Once again, her lips are just there, soft and plump and begging to be kissed.

“Hmm… I doubt it,” Jughead says low, his voice nearly a whisper. Only a couple of inches between them and the possibility of something amazing beginning. Or has it already begun? Damn it, he's thinking too much. He scolds himself, telling himself to do it. 

_Just, do it already!-_

But of course, because life is unfair and the universe really wants to make Jughead work for it, there’s a knock on the front door. It takes Jughead a few blinking moments to really figure that out. Betty’s wide eyes shoot for the door, confusion painting her adorable features.

“Are you... expecting someone?” he asks her facetiously, but she just shakes her head back at him. The knock comes again.

"I guess... we should get that?"

Jughead gets up begrudgingly, cursing under his breath the whole way to the front door at his opportunity once again being thwarted. He peeks through the peephole to see a girl their age on the other side.

"Betty, are you in there?" she calls through the door, another couple of knocks. Jughead pulls the door open and the dark-haired girl comes into view.

“Veronica,” Betty gasps from the living room, pulling her strap more securely onto her shoulder. She hurries over to the door, her flustered cheeks blushed with pink. “Wh-what are you doing here?” The brunette (Veronica, apparently?) throws herself into the blonde, wrapping her arms tightly around her.

“Betty, I’m so sorry!” Betty slowly reciprocates, her own hand coming up to pat her friend on the back.

“I thought you were in the city-”

“I  _ was _ ,” Veronica huffs, pulling herself away from their hug to look her friend in the face. “But I came as  _ soon _ as I got your message. I’m so sorry I forgot to tell you about the fumigation-”

“I assume this is your roommate?” Jughead asks, leaning coolly against the entry to the kitchen. Their uninvited guest pauses her apology to (very obviously) look Jughead up and down. She doesn’t look all that impressed. Not that he’s surprised - her Saks Fifth Avenue attire seems a little out of place in his artist’s loft. She is striking and severe. He flinches when she takes a determined step toward him.

“Veronica Lodge,” she purrs, extending her hand to him like a royal. Jughead wants to snort out a laugh, but a sideways glance from Betty tells him to _ be nice _ . Telepathically communicating so soon… how would anyone doubt that they are soulmates?

Since he can’t say something sarcastic, he takes her gloved hand (in March??) and gives it a few good shakes.

“Jughead,” he introduces and she gets that all-too-familiar brow furrow that everyone gets when he has to introduce himself. She leans in closer, as though she didn’t hear him right.

“Excuse me, you said, _Jug-_ ”

“ _Head_. Jughead.” Her eyebrows raise.

“Oh. That’s… _unique._ ” She quickly turns back to Betty, instead. “When I got your message I just had to come back and save you-” Jughead can’t help but roll his eyes, but before he can say anything, Betty’s already taken the lead.

“ _ Save _ me? V, that’s insane. I’m  _ fine _ ,” Betty insists, her eyes hesitantly trailing back over to Jughead, then back. She pulls out a smile from nowhere, her arms out. “I’m  _ great, _ actually. I’m having a lot of fun here. Jughead’s been a wonderful host.”

Veronica scopes out the apartment - and not at all subtly. Jughead can’t say he cares too much for her, so far. If she were at his bar he’d definitely spend the night watering down her drinks. 

“Betty…” she chuckles without humor - she’s embarrassed. She was probably expecting Betty to jump at her offer, but instead, Betty is holding firm. He feels an odd proudness. “I came back all this way-”

“Okay, and  _ thank you… _ but I didn’t  _ ask _ you to do that. When I called you today, it was to yell at you for forgetting to tell me-”

“I know! I just…  _ finals _ , Betty! I haven’t been in my right mind-” Betty folds her arms over her chest, heaving a shrug.

“Yeah, well… Now Qwerty is probably dead, so…” Betty’s words fall short when she chokes up and Jughead watches in awe as her lip quivers and her eyes gloss over - still such emotion over a goldfish. Her heart is too pure for this world. He wants to lock it in a box somewhere and never let it bother with worldly strife again. And while he knows she can take care of herself, he finds himself wanting to protect her, anyway.

“I’m sorry,” Veronica says, and finally some compassion shows on her face as she looks down at her fidgeting hands. She bows her head, shamefully. “I just… I forgot. I came back, right? And I got us a room downtown, to make it up to you. Figured we could have some girl time.”

Betty sighs, her shoulders slumping. She looks slightly torn between wanting to stay and maybe feeling like she should go with her friend, "It's okay, Ronnie. You really didn't need to do that. I'm okay." Veronica's head comes up and she forces a smile.

"Okay then!" she chirps, her spirits rising. "So... I guess I'll be drinking that bottle of champagne tonight by myself..." 

"Well, I'm sorry you came back all this way. Do you want to eat something?" she offers. "I made spaghetti."

"No thanks," Veronica waves her off, dismissingly. "I'm not eating carbs this week." She turns back to Jughead, her eyes narrowing.  “Pleasure meeting you. Take care of my Betty. I will be watching you. And you better not try anything shady, Jutthead-"

“Jughead-” He tries, but she doesn't care. She leans her head on Betty’s shoulder, lovingly stroking her cheek with her perfectly manicured hand.

“She’s my most precious friend. The B to my V, you know?”

Um, no. No, he does  _ not  _ know.

“The  _ what? "  _ He utters. 

She turns back to Betty, quietly asking her, “does he speak English?”

Jughead snorts, shaking his head, “do _ you? _ ”

“Guys. C’mon,” Betty laughs, nervously, feeling the tension rising between them. “Look… Jug. I can go if I’m putting you out-”

“No,” he says way too eagerly, and he knows Veronica catches this when her eyes narrow and her head starts nodding.

“Ohhhh, okay,” she hums. Her hands raise and she heads back to the front door. “ _ Say _ no more. I’ll let you two get back to... whatever it is you’re doing."

Jughead feels like he's been caught, so he clears his throat, "I'm gonna clean up the dinner mess," he suggests, excusing himself from the very awkward conversation as quickly as possible. He heads for the living room, but the apartment is small. So he can still overhear everything, despite wishing he couldn't.

"V, _c'mon_ ," Betty laughs, uncomfortably. "Don't do the thing-"

"I'm not doing the thing!" Veronica insists with mock offense in her voice.

"You _are_. You're making things weird-"

"Um, excuse _moi,_ but all I see is  _wine_ and _dim lighting_ and _mood_ music..."

"See?" Betty replies, flatly. "You're doing it again."

"Fine. I'll get out of your hair," Veronica surrenders, but not without checking one last time, "but, you're _sure_ you're fine? You barely even know this guy and after what just happened with that Archie guy-"

"I _swear_. I'll call you tomorrow," Betty promises.

"It was nice meeting you," Veronica shouts out to Jughead, as though he hadn't heard their entire exchange from a few feet away. He waves at her, politely.

"I promise not to murder your friend," he assures her. She gives him a tight, sarcastic smile before Betty pushes her out the front door. Once the latches it, Betty stands there, frozen for a few moments. She turns around and sighs, her back pressing against the door.

"Sorry... about that. She's... _protective_. I haven't really had the best judgment lately so... she feels like she needs to check on me."

Jughead smiles to himself, looking down at the plate he's currently scrubbing, " _Nah_ , it's fine. It's good to have friends like that, I suppose."

She comes up behind him, starting to clear the dinner mess as well, once again falling into some sort of routine they never had before. 

"Hey, no. You made dinner, I'll clean," he insists. She doesn't fight him, just sets down the pot and slides up to the bar instead, watching him. 

"You're really okay with me staying?" she asks him, quietly. He glances at her over his shoulder. She's got a pen and she's doodling on a notepad in front of her.   

"Of _course_. That was the plan, after all." But he can't hide the smile creeping across his lips when he remembers that she  _wanted_ to stay. 

With him.

When she doesn't respond, he looks back at her and notices the crease in her forehead and her lips curving down. He wants to play it cool, but there is such a thing as too cool. And that wasn't what she wanted to hear from him. He shuts off the water, turning towards her.

"Hey," he says softly, and her eyes trail from the paper up to his. "I meant... I'm _really_ glad you're staying. I _wanted_ you to stay." He watches as the smallest, shyest grin forms on her lips and her cheeks rouge once more.

"I wanted you to want me to stay," she nearly whispers.

Jughead goes back to his dishes, and she goes back to her doodling. The silence between them is natural. Comfortable. Normal.

After a few moments, Betty gives a yawn and a stretch. She suggests they watch a movie and Jughead agrees. She hops down from the bar to go select one and he finishes up wiping up the counters. When he passes by her drawing on the counter, he stops to admire it: a big, happy, blooming flower. His eyes rise to see her sitting on the couch, oblivious to his admiration. She's just there.

Waiting.

Waiting for _him_.

And he says a silent prayer that she never leaves.

* * *

 

To be continued.

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

  
  
  



	6. don't you dare fall in love with me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Special thanks to Kerry (ieatbooksfortea) helping be brainstorm this chapter. Love you, girl! This ended up being longer than my previous chapters, so I hope it was worth the wait.

“Jug…” she whispers, and it feels like he’s being pulled gently from a dream - one he won’t remember when he finally comes to.

And _wow…_ waking up to the sound of her voice is… _somethin’_ else. He can feel his lips pull up into a smile, even though his eyes haven’t even opened, yet. He can already tell from that one syllable that today is going to be a good day.

She confirms that with another two: “Juggie.” He cracks one eye open, and she comes into view. The sunlight surrounding her is blinding - he can see the specks of dust dancing around her wild mane of hair; the light bounces off of her in rays.

“Morning,” he croaks, giving a stretch and a yawn. He recalls the night before: how they got tired watching a movie. He fell asleep with his head on her lap while she absently played with his hair, lulling him to sleep. Apparently, she fell asleep right there with him.

It was just so… normal. And although neither had made a solid move yet - he was liking this. This normalcy. This build up.

Because he knew it was coming, and that was _more_ than enough for him.

“What time is it?” he wonders, looking past her through the smudged, foggy bay window of his apartment to the awakening world outside.

“Seven,” her voice cracks, sleep still thick in her throat - she probably hasn’t been up long.

He sits up a bit, cocking an eyebrow at her, “You _do_ realize you’re waking me up at seven am on my day off, right?”

“It’s _finally_ sunny,” she tells him with the giddiness of a child on Christmas morning. Now that he thinks of it, that’s true: he doesn’t remember the last time it was sunny out. Her smile is infectious as it widens, “Let’s do something _fun._ ”

Jughead reaches up and plucks a tiny, white feather from her hair. He rolls it in his fingers and absently watches as she clasps her hands together over her chest like she’s praying.

“ _Please?_ ” she pouts. She sticks out her bottom lip exaggeratedly, and it causes him to chuckle. He’s _already_ having fun.

“What did you have in mind?”  Her smile returns and has brightened even more - he never imagined that would be possible.

“Oh, I have plans today,” she assures him, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “ _Big_ plans. But first…” she leans down to him and he holds his breath as she presses a quick kiss to his cheek. “Coffee.”

She hops to her feet in an instant, and Jughead wonders if coffee is even _necessary_ \- she’s already quite chipper this morning. It is a far cry from the morning before, when she was nursing her monster hangover. He supposes the best cure for her morning grumpiness is a good night’s sleep.

“Alright.” Jughead groans through another stretch, getting up off the couch. He twists his upper body, trying to smooth out the kinks in his back. He stops when he hears and feels a satisfying _pop_ before dragging his feet to the kitchen. She’s beat him there, already dressing the coffee pot like she owns the place.

She shoots him a quick glance and asks him, “full pot, _orrr-?_ ”

“Sounds good.” She goes back to measuring her coffee grounds. He steps beside her, his hand resting all too easily on the small of her back.

“I can make that, why don’t you go relax?” he offers, and although he knows _she is woman, hear her roar_ , she smirks triumphantly and lets him be a gentleman.

“You’re too good to me,” she says melodramatically, reaching up to pat his cheek a few times. “I’m gonna go get ready for the day!” Jughead just chuckles as she bounces away, back toward the bedroom to presumably change her clothes and freshen up. Jughead's stomach finally wakes up, too. It growls at him ( _what else is new?)_ so he rummages through the cupboard for something to temporarily silence it.

There's a bag of bagels in there... with only one bagel left. He shrugs and cuts it in half - she has to be starving, too. He pops them in the toaster.

The coffee maker grumbles, and it's full enough to squeeze out one cup of coffee. He grabs a mug, filling it up, and as he stirs in a little bit of cream and sugar, the toaster pops and the bagels are ready. He slaps some (admittedly questionable) cream cheese across each half, then wraps them up in a paper towel.

Jughead grabs her mug of coffee and the halved bagel and heads back down the hall toward the (eerily quiet) bedroom. He peeks in and sees that she is stretched out on the floor on her belly, her legs kicking playfully as she is engrossed in reading a paper. She has positioned herself in the sunlight like a housecat that is taking in all of the glorious rays while she can. Jughead smirks and his heart flutters at the sight of her. He clears his throat and raps on the doorframe to let her know he’s back. Her head snaps back toward him, and he melts as a slow, soft smile stretches her lips and raises her cheeks.

“Did someone order coffee?” he asks but feels like a big dork. He shakes it off and hope she doesn’t notice - _or at least doesn’t mind_ \- how lame he is. He leans down to place the steaming mug in her eagerly awaiting hands. But then Jughead’s heart leaps to his throat when he realizes what she’s reading - one of his essays.

And worse: a _rough draft_ of one of his essays. He gulps as she holds it up, sweetly asking, “is _this_ your work?”

“ _Uhh-_ ” Jughead stammers and his face feels hot, his stomach swirls. Betty’s eyes cast back down to the paper.

“It’s _really_ good, I love your use of tone-” she begins to compliment him, but before Jughead can stop himself, he swoops down and snatches the paper up, crinkling it in his hand.

“That’s private,” he finds himself snapping at her, and Betty’s face drops in an instant.

“Oh,” she breathes, sitting up slowly. She sits crisscrossed, gripping onto her ankles and her sweater slightly slips off her shoulder when she shrugs, “I’m… I’m so _sorry…_ I didn’t _know-_ ”

“I _told_ you. I don’t share my writing. My writing is for _me_.” There’s a long pause as he lets the guilt creep up on him - he didn’t mean to react this way. He tries to laugh it off, but his smile is strained, and he can’t seem to lose the edge in his voice. He sits at the end of his bed and takes in a deep breath before trying again.

“I- I’m sorry. I’m just… a little self-conscious about my writing. I don’t like people reading it. I was just caught off guard, that’s all.”

“It’s okay… I should have asked.”

They sit in a short, awkward silence for a moment, and Jughead is beating himself up for reacting so harshly. Her eyes trail down to the bagel in his hand, still wrapped up in a paper towel.

“Is that for me?” she asks him, and he is relieved she has changed the subject.

“Oh, yeah. Here.” He hands her half. “I only had one left, but I figured it would hold us over ‘til we go get a proper meal.” She smiles and thanks him, taking a bite - he does the same with his half. Her eyes narrow as she looks down at her piece, and then his, “ _Hmm…_ I am _pretty_ sure you got the bigger half-” she teases him, trying to lighten the mood. He shakes his head.

“Well, if I did my job right, they should be the exact same size, buddy.”

 “Hmm, well, they’re not. But whatever you say, _pal_.” Jughead laughs and stands, giving another stretch and hoping they can put their little awkward moment behind them. So far, so good.

“Well,” he sighs before taking another oversized bite. He hides his full mouth behind his hand as he muffles out, “I guess we should go get ready for our date.”

 _“Date?”_ Betty smirks back at him.

“What?”

“You said _date._ You said we should go get ready for our date.” Jughead blinks a few times… _shit, he did, didn’t he?_ He thinks quick.

“No, I said we should get ready for our day.” Betty just stares back at him, amusement slathered across her face. She’s not buying it. Jughead’s head falls back, _“Ohhh,_ I get it. You _want_ me to take you on a date.” Betty’s mouth drops, and she looks surprised that he’s turned the tables on her so quickly.

“No,” she blurts out, her cheeks reddening. “I just-”

He crosses his arms, his stance broadening as he calmly tells her, “You can just _ask_ , Betty. I _might_ oblige you.”

Her eyes roll like a sassy teenager talking back to her mother as she snorts, “You’re so dumb.” Jughead sets a hand on each of her shoulders, carefully eyeing her and telling her slowly,

“ _Okay_ , so. I’m gonna go get ready but, remember. _This_?” He gestures in the space between the two of them, “this is _not_ a date. I don’t want you to fall in love with me, or anything like that.”

“ _Sure._ ”

“Because that would make things really awkward for me, you know?”

“Right, same here,” she plays along.

“Because I don’t find you even _remotely_ attractive.”

“ _Mmm-hmm_.”

“You’re not really my type.” Betty’s eyes narrow again, but she still smiles. God, he loves when she does that. The perfect mix of sweet and sassy and he melts under her gaze _every time_.

She will be the death of him.

“I’m gonna get in the shower now,” she tells him flatly, walking by him and out of the room.

“And I will _not_ be joining you,” he calls out after her. “No matter how much you beg. Cuz we’re _just_ friends, Cooper.”

* * *

 Pier 34 is relatively empty. Jughead uses his powers of deduction to assume that this is because 1) everyone is away for spring break and 2) it’s early afternoon on a weekday.

Betty walks in step with him. Her big, wondering, green eyes that match the sea are concealed by a pair of dark-tinted, bug-eyed sunglasses; she looks like a movie star. She has her wavy, blonde hair pulled into a braid that rests on her shoulder, her effortless beauty takes him aback every time he looks over at her. She’s opted for tight, denim overalls today. Low-top, Converse sneakers. She makes casual look classy.

There is something refreshing about the seaside. On a typical day off, Jughead would have holed himself up in his stuffy apartment. He would have wasted his time sleeping or eating or writing, so he’s thankful for the fresh air - even more grateful for the good company.

They’ve been down here for an hour already, and she’s already dragged him on the Ferris wheel, eaten maybe her entire weight in cotton candy, and had her fortune read by one of those quarter Fortune Teller machines.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” he asks warningly as they stand in front of the vintage, Zoltar booth. Betty cocks her head to the side, curiously.

“Yeah, why? It’s fun!”

“Haven’t you seen Big? I mean, this could backfire in a _big_ way-”

“Oh hush!” she tells him, pushing in the metal quarter feeder. They janky old robot comes to life, waving his hands around as his crystal ball glows. Mysterious music starts, but the old speakers make it come out distorted and watery. Jughead wonders if it’s supposed to sound that way.

“Zoltar is here to give you the wisdom of the ancients!” Zoltar says in his thick, indiscernible accent. His mouth doesn’t match the words. “Do with it what you will. Destiny is a not a matter of chance, it is a matter of choice. It is not a thing to be waited for, it is a thing to be achieved. Create your destiny wisely, my friend.”

“ _Very_ profound,” Jughead comments flatly, and they hear the whizzing sound of her fortune card being dispensed. She plucks it out, her eyes reading it hungrily.

“It says, ‘ _You have received the red rose of love: A good change is happening that gives you strength to overcome any problems. Most likely it is the beginning of a new love affair or a really valuable friendship. Whatever the case, the general message of this card is full of positivity and precious events. Amazing things are true!_ ”

Would she have really received any card other than a rose? This theme is not letting up.

She smiles brightly at him, nudging him with her elbow, “wow, what a great fortune, huh? Guess I should be on the lookout for new friends and lovers…”

“How specific,” he shoots back, sarcastically.

“Your turn!” Her hand lurches out toward his pocket to get at his wallet, but he moves from her wandering hand.

“No thanks. I might as well just flush a dollar down the toilet.”

“C’mon, Juggie,” she pouts up at him, “Don’t you want to know your future?”

“The machine literally just said that destiny is a matter of choice, not chance. So, shouldn’t that mean-”

“You’re overthinking it!”

Jughead obliges, reaching into his pocket for four quarters. He sets them in the coin slot and pushes, once again awakening the rickety, old animatronic psychic.

“Welcome, my friend! Come closer and listen to what Zoltar has to tell you!” Zoltar starts, but his spiel is a little different than last time. “Hard work pays off over time. But laziness, it pays off right now!”

“Ha!” Betty hucks.

“I didn’t know he was a comedian-”

“ _Shh!_ ” she smacks him gently on the arm, leaning in to hear what else Zoltar has to say.

“Heed my advice, young friend. Relax and enjoy yourself today. You deserve it!” Once again, the whiz-purr sound from the printer comes, and out pops Jughead’s fortune.

Betty snatches his fortune before he can get it and begins to read it.

“Be careful with that,” Jughead warns. “You hold my fate in your hands.”

“Aw… it’s just a duplicate of mine. The red rose of love. _Booooring_.”

“See what I mean? This thing is busted.”

“ _Orrrr..._ maybe our fates are the same for a reason,” she smiles coyly back at him. “Maybe we're soulmates.”

Jughead’s mouth runs dry, and he can’t tell how serious she is or not. “But let me guess,” she sighs, wistfully, jutting her chin out as she looks up at him. She pokes him in the chest with her finger, “You don’t _believe_ in that sorta thing, huh?”

“I’m starting to,” he mumbles out before he can stop himself, and the two of them mirror one another’s flushed cheeks.

A seagull squawks nearby from a distant, weathered post in the swirling, foamy seawater of the bay as Jughead and Betty’s feet continue to thump in unison down the boardwalk. His heart races when the back of her hand bumps his, begging to be held. He can’t help but look down at their dangling limbs, dancing around one another, but neither brave enough to make a move.

 _‘Maybe I should,’_ he thinks. His finger grazes softly against the back of her hand, asking permission.

“Look!” Betty exclaims eagerly, and her pace picks up. She darts ahead toward a row of colored tents hanging over various carnival games down the middle of the boardwalk. He watches as she reaches one, turning around to make sure he’s coming. She smirks, beckoning him with one finger. He saunters over on command.

“Hey, stud… think you can _beat_ me at this?” she nods her head in the direction of the ring-toss booth.

“That’s silly, Betty,” Jughead scoffs. He pushes up his sleeves and crosses his arms over his chest. “I _know_ I can beat you at this.”

“Oooh-ho- _ho!_ ” Betty huffs back at him playfully, pulling a $1 bill from her pocket and slapping it down the splintered, wooden counter of the booth. The old man running the booth just grins at the two, swiping the dollar and exchanging it for three red, plastic rings. He glances over at Jughead with an arched brow.

“I think she’s challenging you, young man.”

“Yeah, I’m seeing that,” Jughead pulls out a dollar of his own and waves the man on, without taking his glaring eyes from Betty’s face. “C’mon. Let’s do this.” The man hands him three blue rings and Jughead stretches his arms, dramatically.

“Warming up?” Betty wonders, flatly.

“Don’t want to pull a muscle,” Jughead tells her, crossing his left arm over his chest, then the right. “You should know that I take this stuff… _pretty_ seriously.” He bends down at the waist to touch his toes and she just snorts at him, rolling her eyes.

“Alright, Jones. That’s enough. You’re stalling.”

Jughead bows and gestures exaggeratedly toward the bottles and the old man in the rainbow-striped jacket steps aside, “ladies first.” Betty narrows her eyes at him and tries to maintain a scathing scowl at her _opponent_ , but she can’t keep the smile from creeping up on her.

“Alright _fine_. There’s a big pink bear up there with my name on it.” Jughead’s eyes cast up, and sure enough, there is a Pepto-pink stuffed bear, smiling stupidly down at them. Betty turns from him and clears her throat. She braces herself - one foot forward and one foot back - while she eyes the bottles through the ring. He wants to laugh when her tongue snakes out, concentration painting her features, as she eyeballs her angle. He leans in, close to her ear, “ _now_ who’s stalling?”

“ _Shut_ it.”

Betty tosses her ring out, and it bounces off the neck of a bottle and onto the ground.

“ _Oof._ Awful,” Jughead comments. She side-eyes him but doesn’t let it stop her from tossing her next ring. It narrowly misses the mouth of another bottle, but plops to the ground as well.

“Did someone tell you that you’re _good_ at this?” Jughead teases. “Because you’re _not._ You’re _not_ good at this _-_ ”

Betty laughs at his trash talking, and he’s glad she’s such a good sport. She takes in a deep breath, adjusting her stance and trying to scope out a good angle again. She brings her hand back, then swings it forward, another ring swirling through the air.

That one doesn’t even hit a bottle.

“The saddest part is how _hard_ you tried.”

“It’s harder than it looks!” Betty whines, turning to him with her hands raising her hips in mock defense. “I’d like to see _you_ try.”

“Ok _ay…_ ” Jughead says reluctantly, but his cheeky grin tells a different story. He doesn’t give much thought before he tosses a blue ring out and it immediately catches on a bottle, spinning around a few times with a satisfying _clang_.

“Beginners luck-” Betty utters, but he throws a second one… and it’s another ringer. Betty’s eyes widen, “wait... _how_ are y-”

Jughead throws the third, and this time he’s not even looking.

Three bottles in a row. Even the man running the booth looks impressed.

“What the hell!” Betty exclaims, still in shock.

“I used to run the ring-toss booth at the school carnival every year,” he tells her, sheepishly adding, “I’m _sorry_. It was dishonest of me to keep that from you. Given that I am _clearly..._ a professional.”

“You could play in the big leagues,” she chirps back without missing a beat.

“I submitted my scores to the Olympics…” Jughead crosses his fingers, “just waiting to hear back.”

“Pick your prize,” the old man in the striped jacket tells them, and Jughead’s about to point out the big pink bear when Betty slaps down another dollar.

“I wanna try again,” she insists. Jughead’s eyebrows raise and once again he admires her strong, independent spirit. He is constantly unearthing new gems about her, things that take his breath away. Every surprise just makes him feel like he’s falling deeper and deeper for her.

He catches himself hoping she’s feeling even slightly the same way about him.

Betty snatches up her three fresh rings and tosses one out, but she misses immediately. Again.

She growls frustratedly and it might be the cutest sound in the world.

“See, your form is _all_ wrong,” Jughead tells her, coolly stepping up behind her. His left hand slinks around her waist from behind, resting firmly on her belly, pulling her to him. Their bodies softly and lazily collide as he tells her, “You’ve got to really engage your core-”

“You’re _ridiculous_ ,” she giggles. He tilts his gaze just slightly to her, pleased as the blush spreads across her cheeks like wildfire. He relishes in it as his other hand trails down her right arm. He takes her right hand, which is tightly grasping a red ring. He swings their right arms back, motioning a proper throw.

“You don’t want to bend your elbow, you need your movement to be smooth-” he instructs, and now she’s fully laughing, her head falling back on his shoulder and he dies under the weight of it. He can’t help but notice the way her body molds into his as she presses back against him, almost begging for closer contact. Something stirs within him and he doesn’t want to let go of her - maybe not ever.

“Is this right?” she indulges him (and probably herself, as well). She moves her arm and sways her body almost on her own, and now _he’s_ following _her_ , not the other way around.

“Not bad… but we won’t know for sure until you let go of the ring, will we?”

We. _God_ , he loves the way that word sounds after a lifetime of “me” and “I.”

Betty tosses the ring, and it hits a bottleneck. It’s much closer than before, but still no point.

“ _Oooh_ ,” Jughead sighs, close to her ear. “ _So_ close. One more time-”

She giggles again, and he feels her stomach clench under his palm - they toss one last ring, underhanded this time, and it instantly rings around a bottle. Betty pulls from him, her fists triumphantly in the air as she squeals. She turns around, jumping into Jughead’s arms, excitedly.

 “One big pink bear for the lady, please,” Jughead announces, but the old man just shakes his head.

“You gotta win ten times in a row for one of those,” he says, his voice crackled and aged. Jughead’s stomach growls, and he suddenly isn’t feeling all too interested in throwing 30 consecutive rings at bottles. He pulls out a 20, handing it to the man and repeats his request: “One big, pink bear, please.”

* * *

“Do we _really_ need to have that thing in the front of the cart like that?” Jughead asks as Betty straps the big, pink bear (whom she so lovingly named Mr. Bartholomew Hugglesworth, _just_ Huggles for short) into the baby seat of the grocery cart.

“Why, I didn’t take you for the kinda guy who embarrasses so easily, Mr. Jones-”

“I’m _not_ ,” he retorts. “Believe me, it’s gonna take a lot more than a stuffed bear to get a rise out of me. I’m just… wondering if it’s necessary…”

“Of course. You _won_ him for me… he’s our _baby,_ ” she coos, giving the bear a quick squeeze. Jughead finds her innocence endearing, even if it _is_ also _slightly_ embarrassing. She makes him a sap.

“ _Technically_ , I _bought you_ a teddy bear made in China for 20 cents for 20 bucks. But close enough.”

She waves him off, “Tomato, to-mah-to.”

“Speaking of which… _why_ are we here again?” he asks, his eyes trailing over the fresh produce.

“I mean, we can eat stale crackers for the rest of the week if you’d like… but I’d much prefer something a little more… Oh, I dunno. _Edible?_ ”

“Good point… although my typical go-to is the burger stand a block away. Tasty _and_ convenient.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me. When is the last time you had salad, Jughead?” Betty pushes the cart forward, stopping to collect a few apples. Jughead scratches the back of his head as he tries to recall the last time he ate a salad… _had he ever?_

“I mean… does a _taco_ count?”

“Not quite.”

“It had lettuce on it.”

They round the corner into the canned foods when Jughead freezes in his tracks and his cheeks flush:  he sees Toni standing before them. Once she figures out it’s him, he watches a wry, amused smile creeps across her lips.

“Well, hey there, Jones… didn’t know you were on a _family_ outing today.” She has a shopping basket on her arm. Her long, pink hair is pulled up sloppily on top of her head and she’s got traces of mascara under her eyes. She looks as though she just woke up - which is probably the case, considering Jughead knows Toni is rarely amongst the land of the living before 11 am.

“H-hey, Toni. What are you doing here…” he mumbles out, his gaze hardly meeting hers. She pulls a half-gallon bottle of vodka from her basket.

“Oh, you know. Just getting the essentials.” Her eyes dart to Betty and she waves half-heartedly. “Hi, I’m Toni,” she introduces herself, since Jughead’s manners seem to have escaped him. Betty waves back.

“Betty.” Toni nods, her eyes narrowing.

“Retro. Haven’t met a _Betty_ before.”

“And _this_ is Mr. Bartholomew Hugglesworth,” Betty says, gesturing towards the bear, and Jughead knows it’s just to mortify him. He laughs nervously. Obviously, the bear just sits there, staring back with absent, shiny, black marble eyes. “Please excuse him. He’s shy,” Betty nearly whispers. “Just like his daddy,” she adds, slinking her arm through Jughead’s and leaning her head on his shoulder. Jughead is stunned stupid, and Toni’s eyebrows raise as she stifles back a laugh.

“Wow. Um. Okay. I’ll just be on my way. Let you guys get back to…” she looks them up and down, the words escaping her, “whatever this is.”

“Bye, Toni-”

“Lovely to meet you!” Betty chimes - Jughead even thinks he can pick up a southern drawl in her voice - and Toni just snorts again before passing them by.

“Later… good luck, Jones.”

Once Toni has disappeared into a check stand line, Jughead looks down at Betty, who is looking back up at him through batting eyelashes and a wide, goofy grin.

“You just _had_ to do that, didn’t you?”

“It was kinda fun,” she laughs. “Plus, you said you don’t embarrass easily. I felt like I needed to test that.”

“You know you seemed insane, right?”

“Well, you’re the one hanging out with me. So, who’s _really_ the insane one?”

Jughead just shakes his head, subduing a smile. He wasn’t so sure of the answer to that one.

“Let’s just get those groceries. I’m starving.”

Together continue through the store, and Jughead couldn't be happier to have a dork like her on his arm.

* * *

“Jug! There you are!" Betty calls out, scolding Jug when she finds him in line at the hotdog stand outside the store. "What do you think you're doing?! We _literally_ just bought groceries,”

“But I’m hungry now,” Jughead groans. "And anyway, it’s too late. The damage has been done," he adds as the hotdog vendor hands him an oversized Coney dog with all the fixings. Betty sets down her two bags of groceries and folds her arms over her chest, disapprovingly.

“You’re going to spoil your appetite.”

“Let me assure you,” Jughead says smoothly, adding even more mustard from the pump nearby. “That is impossible for me. Plus, it’s a Jones tradition: celebrate grocery shopping by ordering take out.”

Before he can take a bite, Betty jumps in and takes a huge bite off the other end. He gasps at her brashness and she just laughs and laughs, her mouth full of hotdog. Mustard stains her cheek. She lazily wipes her face with the back of her hand but misses it entirely. Jughead doesn’t even think before he reaches in to get it for her and she just stares back at him, lovingly.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he murmurs. “I don’t just let _anyone_ steal food from me and live to tell the tale.”

She hides her hands behind her back and sways, bashfully, “you think I’m _cute?_ ”

He thinks she is the most exquisite, magnificent, enticing, wonderful human being he’s ever laid eyes on. But he quickly replies, “Nope.” And takes a huge, oversized bite of his hotdog. “You’re a menace.”

“You think I’m _cuuute,_ ” she sings back.

"You're alright." She picks up her grocery bags and turns, walking a few feet away and sitting down in the grass, Mr. Hugglesworth right beside her. She stares past him out toward the water, the sun setting against her Roman features and bathing her in its golden glow.

Jughead nears her as he finishes his hotdog, just taking in the same scene as her. The sky, the ocean, the clouds, the breeze... it's as close to perfection as any day could be. He smiles to himself as he watches her.

Betty lays back into the grass, spreading her limbs out like she is about to make a snow angel. The vibrant green grass pops against her lily-white skin, the sun radiating off of her golden hair. He stands above her, and she smiles wide beneath her sunglasses as her arm reaches up toward him. Dandelions surround her head like a flower crown.

“Come on in, Jug. The water’s fine.”

She doesn't have to ask him twice, he crouches down and lays beside her. They stare up at the late afternoon sky, bright and golden above them. The blue is transforming to pinkish orange and the sun will be setting soon - how did this day go by so fast? Maybe there was some truth in that old saying that time flies when you're having fun.

"It's _literally_ perfect out," he hears her sigh beside him. Jughead can't disagree to that, either. He thinks this might be the longest he's been outside since forever. She turns her head to look at him and she pulls up her sunglasses. Her eyes have flecks of gold in them he never noticed before now. "I had a lot of fun with you."

"Me too," he replies. Then he feels it: the back of her hand gently bumping his, just like before. This time, he laces his fingers with hers and squeezes. They both smile like dorks and Jughead's heart expands, it feels like it is filling his entire chest. She rolls to her side and props her head up with her hand, and Jug does the same. He absently picks at a yellow, oversized dandelion. He isn't sure what compels him to do so, but he slips it in her hair above her ear.

"You know, you're pretty smooth," she tells him. He shrugs, an air on nonchalance.

"I've got _some_ moves."

"Although you did just put a weed in my hair."

"Isn't that what you're supposed to do on a date?" he wonders, and she smiles with narrowed eyes at him for the millionth time today.  
"This was _not_ a date, remember?"

"Oh yeah... that's right. Thanks for reminding me. That was a close one," he teases back.

"Well..." she says softly, that smile still resting easily on her lips. "I'd sure like to see what you do on a _real_ date, then..."

His hand reaches bravely up to rest on her hip, his thumb brushing against the denim and he can't help but imagine what her skin would feel like there. Involuntary thoughts of nails digging into soft, plush skin flash across his mind, but he tries to push them out. He doesn't think he's ever wanted something - _or someone_ \- this much.

Especially when she looks up at him, all bathed in sunlight and half-lidded in the grass.

"Oh, I'm a great date. It would blow your mind. I'm not sure you could handle it."

"Uh- _huh_ ," Betty hums, and her eyes keep darting down to his lips and back to his eyes. She wants him to kiss her, she has to. "And um... what would a real date with Jughead Jones consist of?"

"Let's see..." he scoots in closer to her as he simultaneously pulls her toward him, their bodies nearly grazing against each other. His voice is low as he says, "Well, to start... there would be less ring-tossing. And probably no pink bears."

" _Shhh_ ," she murmurs back. "He'll hear you." Jughead catches a glimpse of that moronic bear staring at him from over her shoulder and he can't help but chuckle.

"If this was a _real_ date, I would have definitely kissed you already. Probably more than once, actually..."

" _Wow..._ well... since you're not attracted to me, I guess it's a good thing this isn't a real date then, huh?"

Their mouths inch closer and he watches her eyes flutter closed, her mouth poised and expectant of a kiss - a kiss that is now _days_ in the making. His lips barely feather across hers and he's breathing her breath. He feels instantly drunk on her.

As fate would have it, once again their moment is cut short when his phone begins buzzing in his pocket, his ringtone chiming violently. They both pull away and the frustration on both of their faces is evident. Betty snaps out of the moment, sitting up and wrapping her arms around her knees.

Jughead is going to murder whoever is interrupting them, this time.

“Aren’t you gonna get that?” Betty wonders, tilting her head to the side as she curls a lock of hair around her finger.

When he brings it out and looks at the caller ID, he considers not picking up. It’s Terry, which can only mean one thing: he’s being summoned to work on his day off.

_Again._

Jughead sits up, bringing the phone to his ear.

“Terry… this better be good,” Jughead warns into the phone, his voice a low rumble.

“Jug. Emergency. I gotta get outta here, my dad is on his way to the hospital. Can you just drop in to close up tonight with Toni? I’ll make it up to you-”

How on earth was Jughead supposed to say no to that?

“Yeah, fine.” He can’t hide the reluctance and disappointment from his tone, and he watches Betty’s face shift into a look of concern when she catches it. “I’ll be right in.”

 “Betty, I’m sorry. I just gotta go in for a bit tonight.” His hand reaches out to rest on her knee, "I'm really sorry."

“How about I come with you?” she asks brightly, and he almost laughs, until he can see the seriousness in her eyes. He shrugs.

“I guess you can have a few drinks on the house while I close up-”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Betty counters, “no, I can help you!”

“You can… help me…?” Jughead recites back at her, flatly.

“Yeah, how hard can it be? It’s just pouring and serving, right?”

“I mean, it’s a little more complicated than that, but… if you _insist-”_

"I insist."

And Jughead reckons she _must_ like him - she's willing to follow him to work, after all.

And it wasn't even a real date.

* * *

Jughead forgot it’s karaoke night.

He _never_ works on karaoke night - and for good reason. Too many drunk renditions of “Wake Me Up Inside” by whatever college sorority girl feels the need to channel her ‘edgier’ side. And it takes approximately 45 minutes before the first one of the night starts.

He shoots a quick glance at Betty, who’s watching from the bar. She’s so cool, leaning back on her arm on the countertop, her high ponytail swaying as she listens to the first few chords, then she turns to find him over her shoulder. Her eyes glisten and her nose crinkles - “I _hate_ this song,” she mouths, and he has to laugh to himself. He reckons he might never be able to love her more than this very moment.

_Love?_

Wait… is it possible to throw a word like that around already?

“Jack and Ginger,” a woman snaps at him, and he recognizes her as the same woman that has asked him twice prior.

“Yes, right, sorry,” he mumbles, and Toni rounds the corner looking frazzled.

“Get your head in the game, Jug,” she snips at him, “it’s too busy tonight for you to be distracted.” Her eyes trail from him to Betty as she tells him this.

“I feel useless over here,” Betty shouts over the counter. “How can I help?”

“Oh, you don’t need to-” he begins, but Toni is shoving her tray over in Betty’s direction.

“Take these drinks to that table in the corner!” she orders. Betty smiles big, happy to help, as she takes the tray from the counter and hurries off. Jughead turns to shoot Toni a glare, but she just shrugs back at him with wide eyes. “What!? She wanted to help, let her try.”

“Have fun explaining that one to Terry when she’s busted for serving without a license.”

“Would you _lighten_ up,” Toni jabs him with an elbow, making her own drink orders. “Look, she’s having fun.” Jughead’s eyes rise to see Betty across the bar, smiling and mingling, that damn adorable ponytail swishing from side to side as she works her way through the crowd.

They love her.

How could anyone not?

"Having fun yet?" he calls out to her when she comes back to fetch more drinks.

"Oh, yeah!" she says back over the music. "I mean, manual labor is a great way to end a date."

"Good thing it wasn't a date then!" he shouts back. "I'll be sure to make a note of that for our real date."

“Next up we have Miss Betty Cooper!” The DJ calls out, and Betty’s eyes light up.

Betty smiles deviously and holds a finger up, “ _Hold_ that thought,” she tells him

He never even saw her put her name in to the karaoke DJ, so he's more than surprised as she bounces up to the front of the room, taking the microphone stand and adjusting it to her height.

Jughead knows he's busy, and he really should be focusing on his orders, but nothing is going to stop him from seeing how this all pans out.

"I haven't done this in a while, so you all be nice to me," she drones into the mic, and after a few seconds the music kicks on. After a few bars, she starts, “ _I know that someday, you'll want me, to want you. When I'm in love with somebody new..."_

Her voice: it almost makes his jaw drop. It’s sultry and smoky, and he can’t help but watch as she sways her hips, working the crowd. People aren’t being drunken buffoons, yelling over her and ignoring her song. No, they are just as pulled in from that one line as Jug is.

 _Of course_ she’d chose Brenda Lee while all the other girls were choosing Carrie Underwood or Adele.

But this doesn't surprise him in the least.

Because Betty Cooper isn’t _like_ most girls.

"Your girl's got a set of pipes," Marv tells Jughead from his stool across the bar countertop.

And Jughead's heart is in his throat at the words _'your girl.'_

And as he watches her up there, shining brighter than the sun, he promises himself that he will never let her go.

* * *

The last of the bar patrons stumble out the front door, Betty waving them off and making sure their Uber made it. Toni left an hour before, having worked the whole day. But Jughead is happy to have the quiet, alone time with Betty now.

“Make sure you lock it the door… sometimes they try to creep back in for a nightcap.”

Betty chuckles lightly and does as he asks. There's a gentle click of the lock before she leans against the door and sighs - she looks exhausted. But happy, nonetheless.

She pulls a wad of green from the front pocket of her overalls, “I made like 75 bucks in tips tonight.” She unfolds the money and spreads it out, fanning herself with it. “Maybe I need to change professions.”

“Don’t you need to _have_ a profession before you can change it?” he wonders, wryly.

“I do. I work part-time at a publisher’s office. I’m a secretary.”

Jughead isn’t sure why, but this news unnerves him. How had he not _known_ that? He'd had the ultimate cliff notes, reading through her papers in class. But a job had never come up in her writing. But how, especially in these last couple days together, had he not even _thought_ to ask her where she worked? He kicks himself - he needs to remember to ask her more about herself.

“Where did you learn to sing like that?” Jughead asks as he dries the last of the beer mugs. Betty just looks back at him with wide, round eyes.

“Church camp.”

“Oh.”

She shrugs, beginning to collect some remaining glasses from a nearby table, “and choir. Plus, I did all the musicals back in school.”

“Musicals?”

“Mmm- _hmm_. I was Cosette in Les Mis when I was ten, then again when I was 16. Although, I fancy myself more of an Éponine, myself. I also took ballet for, like, over 13 years-”

“Wow. Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Hmmm,” she pretends to think, “ _nope_.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. You’re pretty much perfect.” The words barely leave his mouth before he hears the sound of glass shattering. It is loud, causing him to jump. He jerks his head in her direction, “Whoa, you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just…” she looks a little lost, a little flustered. There are shards of glass at her feet, so Jug hurries to grab the hand-broom and dustpan. The both of them huddle down close together as she starts picking up the bigger chunks. “Here, watch out-”

“No, it’ okay-”

“Seriously, Betty. It’s fine-”

“Jug,” she breathes, and he stops trying to sweep up the mess. His eyes trail up to Betty’s, and he’s surprised to see her eyes looking glossy.

“It’s just a glass,” he reassures her. “It’s nothing-”

“Please don’t ever call me that again, okay?” Those are the very last words he expected to come out of her mouth, and the dead-serious expression on her face as she tells him that is almost chilling. How could he have known that such a simple turn of phrase - one he truly believed - could strike such a nerve with her?

“Okay. Sure. No problem,” is his quick response, and he doesn’t dare ask why. She forces a smile through her teary stare.

“Okay,” she says, and it comes out like a sigh of relief. She shakes her head, embarrassed with herself, “I’m sorry-” She doesn’t need to be.

“I just hate that word.”

“Consider it stricken from my vocabulary.” He sweeps up the remaining glass pieces and gets up to take them to the garbage can. Betty’s sudden hiss is sharp, and it makes Jughead whip around to see if she’s alright.

“What’s wrong?” he asks too fast, giving away his worry. He can’t figure out why he’s always on pins with her, unable to keep his cool.

She’s a cradling her hand as she wraps a clean dishcloth around it.

“Oh, it’s fine… just a little cut,” she says, but her voice shakes, and he knows it’s worse than she’s admitting.

“Here, let me see it,” he tries, reaching out for her hand, but she yanks it quickly, twisting her body away from him.

“No!” Her response is hard and stern, and he’s never heard that tone from her before - it’s laced with fear. Jughead lets out a brief, nervous chuckle.

“It’s fine, Betty. Terry makes us take a first aid class-”

“I said it’s fine, really. Just a little nick-” she rambles off as she breezes past him, trying to downplay it, but he can see the bright, cherry red blood beginning to stain the thin cheesecloth. She sees it too, and shoves her injured hand under her other armpit, one-handedly trying to finish wiping down the counter.

“Uh, honestly, it’s sort of a liability issue at this point. You got hurt here and you’re not an employee, _so..-_ ” He’s lying. He just wants to get her to let him see the wound that is clearly worse than she’s letting on.

She turns, her face pale with panic in her eyes, but she hides it away quickly and forces a sarcastic smile instead, “what, you think I’m gonna sue you?” Jughead doesn’t take his eyes off of her as he reaches below the counter to pull out the first aid kit. When she gets the hint that he’s not going to let up, she groans and drops the cleaning rag on the counter. She slowly and begrudgingly drags her feet to Jughead to allow him to assess the damage.  

“Take your time,” Jughead teases sarcastically, and Betty smiles despite the pain. Jughead helps Betty up onto the counter and then pulls a stool up, sitting in front of her. She extends her hand out to him and it’s slightly shaking. He steadies it before carefully unwrapping the cloth from around her hand.

“ _Owwww…. ow, ow, ow…_ ” she whispers harshly, and his eyes flick up to her face, then back down to the cut - it’s red and angry and there’s a small piece of glass still peeking out from the wound.

But that's not all.

Jug sees the reason she was so hesitant to show him her palm: four crescent moon shaped scars smile back at him likea Cheshire cat's grin - self-inflicted from digging her nails into her own flesh. His eyes flit over to her other hand, clenched in a loose fist to presumably hide four more.

“For it apparently not being so bad, you seem to be in a lot of pain,” he observes, his voice low. Betty looks relieved when he says nothing of her scars. He reaches into his kit, pulling out a pair of metal tweezers to get the tiny glass sliver out.

“Hardy _har_ ,” she drones back at him. Then, she hisses through her teeth again when the tweezers brush against the incision and her hand jumps in his.

“Easy now… stay still,” Jughead instructs her, his voice calming and slow. He feels her hand relax, her shoulders slumping from their alert position as she gets a little more comfortable.

He hears her again, but this time instead of a sound of pain, she huffs out a humorless laugh.

“Wow…” she breathes as Jughead beings to pull the glass out, slowly.

“ _Hmm_?” he hums back, trying not to break his concentration as he gets it the rest of the way out. His other hand is holding onto her wrist - he can feel her pulse beating against his thumb with each word as she tells him,

“I don’t really remember the last time someone did this for me.”

“Your mom never did?”

“Well, I mean, sure. Scraped knees, typical cuts and bruises. But from a pretty young age I sorta just learned to tend to myself. My mom wasn’t the most… nurturing.”

“How so?”

“When I would fall down or get hurt, she was always more concerned about the run in my tights or the tear in my Easter dress. It was almost like when my sister and I got hurt, she just didn’t even know what to do. Her eyes would gloss over and she’d tell us, ‘ _stop crying. You’re okay_.’ So, we’d stuff it down and tough it out…”

“Why do you think she did that?” he asks her. He just wants to keep her talking.

“I think she didn’t like to see us in pain.” Betty doesn’t look at him as she softly recalls, “one time my sister, Polly, needed stitches on her chin from falling off the monkey bars at the park. She was crying…” Her words begin to trail off, and then her voice trembles with emotion as she goes on, “-and there was so much blood… and my mom just started yelling, ‘ _stop bleeding!... Stop bleeding!_ ’ Another parent at the park had to step in because she was so panicked and didn’t know what to do.”

Jughead tries to keep his voice even as he suggests, “Maybe she was trying to make you guys strong…” His eyes flicker up to Betty’s when she says nothing at first. He feels his heart skip a full beat when she gives him the weakest, smallest smile he’s seen from her so far. There’s a sadness in her eyes he’s never noticed until now… was it always there?

“Well… it only made me sad, so…”

Jughead withholds a sigh and it rattles in his chest as his eyes cast downward to her palm - How could he have seen her self-made wounds as Cheshire cat smiles when they are so clearly frowns?

He carefully began to wrap her hand up in gauze, and he can’t quite define the exact shade of melancholy blue that had settled into his heart after hearing Betty’s story.

He’d spent so long picturing Betty Cooper as the flower girl with hair of sunshine and a heart in full bloom. She was loved.

She _is_ love.

He’d made the assumption that her life was full of rainbows and roses… he’d never once considered the thorns.

Without another thought, Jughead brings her maimed hand up to his lips. His eyes squeeze shut as he kisses her open palm, wishing he could relieve her of any pain she’s ever felt - right every single wrong - wishing even more that she would let him be the man to do it. Wishing she knew that, with him, she would never be alone or unloved.

He hears her breath hitch, and when he opens his eyes to gaze back at her through his eyelashes and disheveled hair, her stare is wet and glossy.

 “Betty… I hope you know… you _only_ deserve happiness-”

“Juggie,” she breathes, a whimper on her lips. She scooches her body to the edge of the counter, her hand reaching out to grip and pull at the hem of his collar.

Jughead wants to say more - he wants to tell her everything written on the inside of his mind and heart, but he doesn’t get the chance. Betty practically throws herself forward, leaning down and taking his face in her hands as she kisses him passionately - _deeply_. His eyebrows raise in surprise, but he kisses her back - _of course_ he kisses her back. He’s only disappointed he hadn’t gotten the courage to do it first, but _damn_ is he happy she did.

It is so much better than he’d imagined - so worth the wait.

Jughead slowly rises from his chair and sinks further into the kiss. He pushes himself into it, gripping her close, desperately taking that kiss from her. His head feels dizzy and his heart beats violently, rattling his ribcage. She fills all of his senses at once, and the overload makes it impossible for Jughead to completely process just how wonderful her lips feel moving against his - especially as his lips part, allowing her tongue to slip inside. He can feel a _very_ distinct and specific longing growing inside of him as he moves forward, his body grinding roughly against hers. Even more so when he feels the heat radiating off of her, and the rough friction of her desperate body against his.

His mind is racing, trying figure out any other way to describe it - he wants to write about this, but he's not sure he will ever know how. He can only think that it _feels_ the way that cotton candy tastes; it is reminiscent of a hometown carnival that he would beg his parents to let him go to every year.

He pulls back, their lips separating, but still searching for one another. He hands slink up the length of her back and he wants to tell her how badly he’s wanted this, but she’s too intoxicating and he wants more - no, _needs_ it. He leans back in again, this time softly, more lovingly. _Agonizingly_ slow, feeling every sensation he can. He likes this kiss even more. He tries to freeze this moment in his memory; the way she felt and tasted, the way their lips move together in perfect harmony - a dance, of sorts. He never wants this moment to end.

Because it doesn’t feel like just any kiss - it is a kiss that splits open the universe and sends him tumbling out into space. He’s not here. He’s blasting through infinite quasars, torquing past bright, fleeting winks of stars billions of lightyears away. He can see everything that has ever existed, everything that still has yet to be, and all that is holy.

Little league games. Summer rain. The butterflies in his stomach on the first day of school. Holding his baby sister for the first time. Getting a ride to school when he missed the bus. Actually speaking to his father one night because the tv was broken. Hot soup on a cold day. The pop-simmer of a campfire. Grass stains on the knees of his new jeans. The first sunny day after a wet, cold spring. Driving a car for the first time. Catching fireflies and letting them go. The crackling sound of a needle running along his favorite vinyl record. His embarrassment and gratefulness the night his mother taught him to slow dance. Feeling God at an old diner, but not a church. Making a new friend and feeling like he'd known them his whole life. Saying goodbye to his grandma in a hospital bed. Moving away from home. Creating a home. _Having_ a home.

_Home._

It feels like a last first kiss. He doesn't need to have kissed a hundred sets of lips to know this.

He just needed this _one_.

Their movements become more shallow - soft, gentle pecks. When they have to come up for air, their lips part. He presses his forehead to hers. He’s not ready to disconnect from her, his hands sliding to the back of her neck.

He presses another quick kiss on her, then one more. If she doesn’t tell him otherwise, he may never stop.

When he opens his eyes, hers are still closed. She exhales like it’s the first breath of her life. His heart fills as a slow, delirious smile spreads on her lips and her cheeks blush. Finally, her eyes open, and they are so love-filled he swears he will do anything she asks of him, just to get her to look at him this way again and again.

“ _Finally_ ,” she breathes.

And now he wonders what the hell took them so damn long.

* * *

 


	7. cat and mouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more of a filler chapter, but this is the beginning of the end. I predict maybe 3 more chapters, so enjoy.

 

* * *

Here’s the thing:

If someone would have told Jughead Jones a week ago that Betty “ _ Flower Girl _ ” Cooper would have not only slept beside him (twice!), but  _ also _ kissed him like her life depended on it... well, he just never would have believed you.

Because good things don’t just  _ happen _ to Jughead Jones.

Sure, he’s had his share of lucky moments here or there, like finding a $20 bill in an old jacket he bought at a thrift store or winning a free slushie at the 7-Eleven that one time.

But up until this most recent development, Jughead just as soon assumed that he was doomed to live a lackluster love-life.

And oddly enough, up until this week, he was content with that. Because no one had ever awoken feelings like this within him before.

But as his thumb grazes against her cheek and she looks back at him with hunger in her eyes that could sink ships and start wars, he knows that the universe is smiling down on him.

_ God _ , her eyes are even more gorgeous up close.

He is so damn gone on this girl.

Especially as her lips part and she leans her head forward a bit, pressing her forehead to his. Their noses bump and their mouths are almost touching again. His grip tightens on her let her know that he is  _ very _ willing for whatever is gonna come next.

It’s only been less than 30 seconds since their first kiss, and he’s already missing the feeling over her lips moving roughly against his.

What is it about this girl that he just can’t get enough of?

Before he can make the decision whether to or not kiss her again, she closes the gap between them. Their lips meet once more, and she pulls him even closer. She runs her hand into his hair and grips. Even though he has her in his arms right now, he can’t help but want even more. He feels greedy. He wants to feel his hands all over her. He wants his lips to leave a trail down her body like breadcrumbs to lead his way home.

She must feel all this same longing too, because before he knows it, her hand is cupping his cheek, her thumb running over the smoothness of his skin as she parts with him only slightly, their lips moving together as she huskily asks, “Should we get outta here?”

She doesn’t need to ask him twice. Jug lets out a low breath and nods quickly.

They wordlessly close up shop and make their way outside. Their beautiful, warm spring day has already given way to the rain clouds, and it is drizzling again. His hand quake with elation as he fumbles with his keys to lock the bar door. This thrill is only amplified as she slides up behind him, her arms wrapping around his waist while she gives him a soft, impatient kiss on his neck - it just makes it even harder to concentrate.

He hears the door lock and he swiftly grabs her hand. They start to walk home, but the drizzle has already begun to thicken.

Thankfully, there are a couple of yellow taxis lined up across the street - probably waiting to take drunken fools home. He picks one at random, opening the back door for her and she slides in, but the moment he climbs in next to her, she scoots as close to him as possible.

He leans forward to tell the driver the address, and Betty just watches him the whole time, her eyes never leaving him. When he leans back in his seat again, she turns her body toward him; her lips find his jaw eagerly.

He can’t help himself - luckily the driver isn’t at all interested in what’s going on in the back seat as Jughead’s hand daringly grips her thigh, bringing her leg closer. The friction it immediately creates between them is a rush to his brain, and he can tell it is going to be addicting.

His other hand is lost in all her hair, his lips pressing hard against hers before he parted them with his tongue to taste her. She welcomes it, a tiny moan getting muffled between them. She runs her hand up his chest until her fingers find the side of his neck, her nails digging in gently but with enough pressure to let him know that she can hardly wait for what was to come.

Mercifully, he lives close to the bar and before they know it, the cab pulls up to the curb. Betty’s cheeks are flushed pink as she forcibly separates herself from him, scooting over only enough for him to blindly hand the driver a $20.

“Keep the change,” he utters in his best New York accent - which is still  _ awful _ \- and they laugh as they stumble out of the taxi and onto the street, jogging up to his front doors to the apartment building, where he then tries to find his keycard to get in.

He slides it twice, the wrong way both times, and she notices, but it only makes her giggle more. She stands on her tiptoes and kisses the skin beside his ear before telling him lowly, “Relax, Juggie... it’s just me.”

He turns to look at her, his mouth falling slightly open, not knowing how to tell her, ‘But you are  _ everything I could ever want. _ ’

Instead, he leans down and kisses her softly and he thinks that is a good enough way to tell her. She tugs her lips up, silently taking the keycard from him and sliding it in the reader, the buzz sounding and the lock on the door clicking open. She takes his hand as she walks backward down the hall, a devious smile on her lips.

She pulls him to her, their bodies crashing into each other as their lips search for each other's, and that quickly she turns, her golden hair whipping around as she begins to run ahead of him. Her giggles follow her down the empty hallway, and he can't help it: he has to chase her.

So he does.

It's a game of cat and mouse as she scurries down the hallway, and when he turns the next corner, she is gone. He slows his stride, knowing there's nowhere else she could possibly be other than the sharp turn in the middle of the hall that makes way for the creaky, old stairwell (he really should consider moving).

"Oh, Betty," he hums - he certainly doesn't want to wake anyone up. It is past 1am, now. "Come out, come out, wherever you are-" 

She leaps from the stairwell, and it doesn't scare him in the least. He was clearly expecting it. He grabs her by the waist and swings her around and she just laughs and laughs, and he still can't believe this is real life.

She breaks free, running up the old, carpeted stairs. Instinctively, Jughead reaches for her ankle and she falls forward, her hands only barely catching her. She looks over her shoulder at him, her hair already a crazy mess from their playful game of chase. Jughead’s eyes roam up when he feels her staring at him, and his body immediately reacting to the pure heated passion in her face.

He bravely crawls up the length of her, his body heavy behind her as he finds her neck, his hips pressing into her backside. Her body instinctively reacts and she let out a breathy moan when he bites down on the soft, silky skin of her neck. Somehow, she still manages to have the upper hand and she turns her body to slide him off of her before she quickly picks herself up and sprints to the top of the stairs, still giggling.

Jughead grins at how fun she is making this.

He scrambles to his feet and hurries after her. She is only just a little ahead of him. He reaches forward and is able to snake his arm around her waist again, gripping her tightly to him as he tells her,

“Well,  _ this _ is fun,” he starts, smirking when her pouty lips part, “I  _ hardly _ expected-"

He doesn’t get a chance to finish before she twists around and is kissing him again, their mouths colliding in a mind-numbing way. He slides his hands over her hips, then grasp the back of her thighs and raises her legs to wrap around his waist as he pushes her against the hallway wall. It's almost as though he has no control of himself.

“You're such... a good... kisser _ ,”  _ she compliments him as their mouths part just so they can catch their breath.

“Uh-huh,” he mutters back nonchalantly, nodding, “you too.” His mouth moves to her collarbone as her hands slide up under his shirt, her nails tight against his skin.

_ “Betts-,”  _ he mumbles against her skin, and he hears a strained moan escaping her open mouth, his name jumbled somewhere in the middle. He can’t help but to raise his face to hers, his mind going almost completely blank upon seeing her biting her bottom lip, the way her perfect teeth irritate her already bruised lip send him into a tizzy, and he pulls her toward him.

He kisses her again as she hops down to her feet, moving them back around the last turn before his apartment. He can hardly believe this is happening...

this  _ is _ happening...  _ right? _

But then they round that last corner, the first thing Jughead notices is Marv, slumped down in the hallway against his apartment door. They freeze for a moment and it takes a few seconds for Jughead to actually process what he's looking at.

"Is he... is he alright?" Betty asks, and the smile from her voice is gone. She squints, and Jughead sighs. This wouldn't be the first time Marv was passed out in the hallway, and certainly wouldn't be the last.

"Hey, Marv," Jughead calls out, leaving Betty's side to approach the old man. He crouches down, his hand coming down to slap him on the shoulder, "c'mon, you old drunk. Time to get inside."

But Marv doesn't move. He doesn't stir.

Something seems wrong.

"Marv," Jughead tries again, giving him a slight shake. His head slumps forward, unresponsive. Jughead shakes harder, panic gripping his heart. "Marv, hey! Get up-"

"Jug, I don't think-" Betty's voice cracks, and his eyes snap up to hers. She is shifting her weight from foot to foot, pulling her cell phone out of her pocket. "Juggie..."

She doesn't have to say anything more, he knows what she's trying to say but... no.

No.

Marv is a tough old guy. He's had him as a customer since he first moved here and he’s seen him passed out on a park bench on multiple occasions. He's fine.

"MARV." Jughead shakes him again and leans down. It isn't until he gets lower that he realizes that his lips are blue, his face pale.

Jughead rips his jacket off, suddenly feeling hot. His hand snakes out to reach for his neck, trying to get a pulse - after a few moments, he finds it, although it’s quite faint. He is relieved when the man is still breathing.

"H-hello... We have a man here. He's not responsive," he hears Betty saying beside him, but it sounds so far away. His eyes briefly glance at her and he sees she's already on the phone to 911. Jughead pulls Marvin over, trying to get him into the recovery position while they wait for the ambulance to get there.

They get there so fast that it’s almost shocking, practically pushing Jughead and Betty out of the way to get to Marv. He doesn’t regain consciousness, even as they are loading him into the stretcher.

A little later, Jughead sits with his head in his hands in the living room while Betty finishes giving her statement to the police. 

“Are you alright?” he hears her ask softly, leaning against the entryway. The light from the hall is illuminating her from behind, giving off a soft glow around her. She looks like an angel… as usual.

“Yeah,” he says, taking in a deep breath sitting back, sinking into the couch. “Yeah, I mean, I don’t really know how I feel but…”

Regardless of the circumstances, he feels his lips tug upward into a small, smile. 

“I’m really glad you’re here,” he tells her. 

She smiles back at him and everything feels okay. She walks over to him slowly and collapses next to him on the couch. Jughead looks at the clock on the wall - it’s past 3 am now, and their little moment from before has thoroughly been ruined.

He looks to the side as she hides her yawn behind her hand. He just chuckles, wrapping her up in his arms and scooting her close, pressing a kiss into her hair. He buries his face in it and suddenly realizes just how tired he is.

“Wanna go to bed?” he asks her, and she looks up at him with big, tired, thankful eyes. She nods.

“I’m so tired,” she nearly cries, almost apologetically. 

“Well, I’d say so… you  _ did  _ wake us up at 7 today…” Jughead stands with a stretch before reaching his hand down to her, “let’s get some sleep.”

* * *

 

When Jughead awakens, it’s to an empty bed. He sits, up slowly, looking around the room for any sign of Betty, but she’s gone. A quick pang of fear hits him as he gets up, calling out for her but receiving no response. 

Instantly, he wonders if she took off. It seems so strange that they had such an amazing day, and now she was gone without a word. It’s the kind of jarring event that makes him wonder if she was ever there at all.

But then, he sees it: she’s a note on the coffee table in the living room, “ _ had to go to work - be home later. B. _ ”

_ Home. _

_ God _ , he wishes that were true. Maybe someday...

Right beside her handwritten note is the flower he put in her hair the day before. It’s a sweet reminder that she is real - that yesterday really  _ did _ happen.

He feels relief wash over him that he didn’t scare her away, despite their awkward (and tragic) ending to the night before. Not that he particularly minded - it ended up being perfect _ exactly  _ how it was. Holding her in his arms all night long was just as good as anything else they might have done - and now, they had something to look forward to.

Because now he realizes that he’s already been waiting his whole life for Betty to walk into it - a few extra days or weeks, or however long she needed, would be worth it.

On the bright side, Jughead relishes in his alone time. He had very much enjoyed sharing his living quarters with the blonde beauty, but everyone needs some time to themselves, sometimes. He jumps in a long shower, eats, takes his time doing some things around the house. He even sits down to write. And as peaceful as it is… he can’t help but look up across the room and wish she was sitting on the couch reading a book or typing away at the writing desk in his living room.

He’s alright without her there, he just likes having her around. He’s gotten used to her… he misses her already.

This realization gives him the sinking sensation that after Archie gets back and school starts back up, things are going to change. They will have to come out of their own little world and be a part of the land of the living again - the fantasy will have to come to an end.

There’s nothing more important to him to preserve and savor what little time they have left.

Jughead pauses his writing and stretches when he hears his phone start buzzing on the table in front of him. He can’t help but smile to himself at the just the idea that it’s Betty - maybe she’s calling on her break to see how his day is going.

But when he looks at the screen, his stomach churns and his chest tightens: it’s Archie.

Why does he suddenly feel slightly ill?

He thinks about ignoring it, but maybe that will be suspicious… wait, what? Why is he even worried about this? Archie was a tool to Betty, he didn’t owe the  _ guy anythin- _

“Hello?” Jughead finally asks into the phone, silencing his racing thoughts. His voice cracks and it makes him realize just how long he’s gone today without uttering a single word.

“Hey, dude! How’s it going?” Archie chirps happily on the other line. Jughead rubs his eyes, clearing his throat.

“Not bad… how’s the lake house?” Jughead stands and immediately begins to the pace the room. He never likes being on the phone much in general, and this particular call is making him feel anxious.

“It’s been amazing. I don’t want spring break to end. I wish I could live here.”

Jughead silently wishes Archie could just live there, too.

Then, he feels instantly guilty for thinking that.

“What about you, what have you been up to?”

The flower sitting on the coffee table seems to leer back at him, taunting him to tell the truth. 

“Same old, same old…” Jughead mutters, picking the flower up and twirling it between his fingertips. 

“Cool, man. I was just calling to let you know I didn't forget about rent. I sent it over to you online, but you still have to accept it.”

“Cool, thanks,” Jughead replies, trying to keep it brief. He is about to ask him when he’s due home, but there’s a knock at the front door - which is weird, considering he didn’t buzz anyone into the building. “Hey, someone’s here, I gotta run man,” Jughead rambles off into the phone, and they say a quick goodbye. Jughead hurries over to the door, surprised to see Betty’s dark-haired friend on the other side of the door. He pulls the door open, wondering if he will live to regret it.

“Hey… Veronica, right?” he wonders. She gives him a tight, maroon-lipped smile.

“Jughead.” She doesn’t waste a moment before she comes sweeping into the room, her long coat flowing behind her dramatically. Jughead moves to the side to keep from getting mowed down by her razor-sharp high-heels. They click on his hardwood floors like a ticking time bomb.

“Oh. Ok... Come on in, I guess,” he mumbles, gesturing toward the open living room. He shuts the door behind them, turning to her. “You girls sure know how to act like you own the place…”

She whips around to face him, her dark eyes shooting daggers and he feels his face bend up into a slight glower -  _ what had he ever done to her? _

“Betty isn’t here,” he articulates to her, crossing his arms warily over his chest.

“Precisely why I’m here,” she answers, tugging at each finger of her silken, black gloves before peeling them off altogether. She tucks them away safely in her small purse as she tells him, “I’m here to talk to  _ you _ .”

“Me?” he parrots, pointing to himself. Her hands catch her hips and she all but rolls her eyes.

“ _ No _ , the other person in the room with us," is her saucy reply. " _ Yes _ , you!” Jughead almost wants to laugh - this is too bizarre for his tastes.

“Um, have I offended you somehow??” Jughead inquires, dubiously.

“No. Believe me, it takes a lot to offend me.

“O...kay. Then what do you want?” he semi-snaps at her, unsure of her motives at this point. Veronica steps to him with dark intensity in her eyes.

“I’m here to tell you… you better not hurt my Betty.”

“Seriously?” he replies, flatly. “You really feel this is necessary?” 

Veronica nods once, “my girl has been led astray more times than she deserves. And after the last one? I’m not taking any chances.”

“Well, I’m not like the last one. Or  _ any  _ one _ , _ for that matter.” Veronica’s mouth opens to speak, but then she closes it, once again getting a good look at him, up and down. 

“So I am seeing,” she replies, evenly. Her arms fold over her chest to mirror his, “so. Then what are your intentions with my dearest friend?” Jughead snorts, shaking his head.

“Believe it or not, I don’t have intentions. I just… like her. A lot.”

Veronica gets in close to him, searching his eyes. For what, exactly? He’s not sure.

“You  _ do… _ don’t you?” she finally asks. Jughead can’t find the words, so he just nods back at her in response. “And you promise you’re not going to hurt her?” 

“No. I would never-”

“Hmm… I’m not sure why but… I believe you.”

“Well… good?” Jughead utters. He’s never been in a situation like this before. And Veronica is intense, to say the least.

“Our apartment is ready,” Veronica lets him know, and his stomach sinks. 

“What? When?”

“This morning. But… I don’t need to tell her just yet.” She shrugs at him, a half smile on her pretty lips. “Maybe give you guys a couple extra days to… get to know each other?”

“Okay,” Jughead breathes, nodding despite knowing he should probably just tell Betty when she gets home. But he doesn’t want her to leave.

“I’ll be around,” Veronica sighs, slipping her gloves back on her hands. “And if you hurt her? I’ll definitely hurt you.”

* * *

 

It’s about 3pm when Betty comes through the front door, holding a box of belongings. She slams the door behind her and Jughead jumps at the sudden sound.

“Oh, hi there,” he rattles off. She slams the box down, running her fingers through her golden hair. He can see mascara streaked down her cheeks, and he knows immediately that something is wrong. He hurries to her, his hands finding her shoulders as he asks her, “hey… what’s wrong?”

“I got fired,” she chokes out. She sniffles and wipes the tears away before they can fall again. 

“What… _ why? _ ”

“I was late this morning… I overslept because I was up so late last night. But they have a three strike rule, and apparently, I’m out.” Before Jughead can pull her to him to wrap her in a hug and comfort her, she’s already buried in his chest. He rests his chin on her head, trying to find the right words to say.

“Do you want me to kill him?” He feels her shoulders shake with a quick laugh - or a sob. He can’t be sure.

“No,” she replies, her words muffled in his shirt.

“It’s alright, Betts… you are amazing and smart… you’ll find something else,” he tries. Her head pops up and she nods.

“I know.” 

“And modest,” he adds sarcastically, but she is unphased.

She breaks from him to rummage through her box of personal belongings, fetching a newspaper and holding it up, triumphantly, “I am gonna start now.”

Jughead just watches her as she spreads the paper open on the floor, a highlighter in her hand as she starts scouring the print for another job.

“Don’t you want to take a few days to recover?” he asks, crouching down. Her eyes find his fiercely and she’s shaking her head.

“No, I mean… I have bills to pay, Jug.”

He reaches over and moves the paper just out of her reach, “and you’ll be able to get right back to it…. Tomorrow. How about tonight, you just have fun?”

She sits up, wiping her nose with her sleeve and eyeing him skeptically, “what kinda fun?” 

Jug just smirks back at her, “I think I have an idea.”

* * *

tbc


	8. i've waited my whole life for someone like you (to come along)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writer's block is a bitch. it won't happen again.  
> Do yourself a favor and listen to["i think of you" by Rodriguez.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WGESrgMDm5k)

Jughead gets Betty all set up on the couch with a glass of wine and a cheesy rom-com while he runs to the store to get some supplies. He is already on his way, his feet moving quickly down the sidewalk as he messages Ms. Epstein, the widow in the upstairs Penthouse of the building. He wants to ask permission to use her rooftop access.

The planets align, and it turns out Ms. Epstein is in Paris for the spring. Since Jughead makes it a habit to do odd errands for her whenever she  _is_  in town, she said he can use her private veranda anytime he wants - be it to entertain guests or to write. He hasn't had a reason to take her up on that offer in the past, but tonight feels like an exception. It opens up to basically the entire building's rooftop, and she has it decked out with a garden, patio furniture, even a fire pit - it's a place  _just_ perfect to unwind.

She texts him back with a quick, abrupt ' _yes_ ,' as he's standing in the unnamed grocery between his apartment and the Dairy Queen. He fumbles to stick the phone back into his pocket because his arms are full of snacks - he regrets not getting a basket. But it's a little late for that now and he is  _committed_.

As he navigates the aisles, plucking out this and that to add to the growing pile in his arms, he stops and stares at the small selection of diaries. He spots a soft pink, leather-bound journal with a rose etched into the front of it.

And it just  _screams_ Betty Cooper.

So he tosses that one on the top of his pile and makes his way to the front.

"Anything else?" The kid behind the counter asks, his attention focused somewhere else. Jughead turns and sees some 90's movie with captions playing on the silent television toward the front of the shop. Now he realizes what the kid is focusing so hard on.

Jughead turns back around, shakes his head, and puts his money down. When the cashier finally tears his eyes away from the far-off television, his gaze falls to the items he is bagging. He picks up the bag of marshmallows, giving an approving nod.

" _Alriiiight._  S'mores?" Based on tone alone, Jughead is pretty sure the kid is high. Honestly, he would probably get high before working the night shift at a convenience store, too.

Jughead gives him an awkward, tight smile, "not yet. But they will be, eventually." The lame joke (can he even call it that?) is breezed over, as it should be.

It wasn't very funny.

And this is taking  _so_  long.

"Hey, did you know  _s'more_ is short for  _some more?_ " the cashier wonders, his voice low and drawling and yeah, he's  _definitely_  high.

Jughead blinks at him a couple times, then simply says, " _interesting_."

The kid picks up the pink journal and looks for the barcode.

"Wow... a diary," he says slowly -  _judgmentally_.

" _...Yup_."

He wants to get into it and tell the kid the journal isn't  _for_  him, but it just seems so pointless. However, when the cashier smirks at him, he decides to anyway.

"It's not actually for me. I'm getting it for a friend."

He wants to add that he would  _never_ get a diary like this for himself, and more than that, he would never call it a  _diary_  either. He would call it a  _journal_  because that's _much_ more masculine than a diary... -  _And_  he cannot for the life of him figure out why he feels the need to defend himself to - he squints at the kid's name tag -  _Jeremy_.

Even if it's mostly in his own head.

"If you say so." Jeremy somehow manages to say in some kind of lukewarm, hazy acknowledgment. He narrows his (red, bloodshot) eyes at numbers on panel sticking up from the cash register that reads 'Due _: $16.53._ ' He doesn't say anything, just stares at Jughead until he gets the hint and pulls out a twenty. The cash register pops open, but instead of giving Jughead his proper change ($3.47), he hands Jughead back $10.53. Not even close.

Jughead considers pointing out the error, but decides to take the extra cash, instead. He figures it is the universe sympathizing with him for having to endure such an awkward encounter. And because the universe doesn't seem to sympathize with him all too often, he goes for it.

He hurries back home and right up to the roof to unpack his groceries - champagne, s'more ( _some more_ ) fixings, snacks. He lights the firepit and then tracks down the outlet to turn on the lights strung across the veranda. It's already dark, and it's beyond romantic, even with the slight chill in the air. He imagines snuggling up with her on the couch under a blanket and it's suddenly the  _only_  thing he wants to do.

Maybe forever.

Once Jughead is satisfied that everything is set, he goes down to fetch Betty. His main mission is to lift her spirits tonight, whatever she needs. It feels weird to be this concerned about another person… and he has to admit, he  _likes_ it.

It fits him like a glove. He's  _good_ at it.

At least, he  _thinks_ he is. He remembers caring for his mom and his sister, even his dad. Jughead has been somewhat of a caretaker his whole life when he really thinks about it. At least for the people he loves.

_Wait… loves?_

Yeah…  _Loves_.

When he gets back down into the apartment, he enters quietly. He carries the pink, rose-etched journal in his hand as he peeks around the corner and immediately has to stifle a laugh - she's sprawled out on the couch,  _quite_ pathetically. She looks a little loopy from the wine - it's half empty. Her cheeks pink and eyes puffy from crying as she digs into a bag of chips and texts someone from her phone - probably Veronica.

She's a mess… a beautiful, wonderful, amazing, absolute mess.

"How you doin' over there?" he asks, nearing her cautiously. She looks up at him, her emerald eyes wet and glistening but brighter, somehow. He suddenly knows what the Beatles were talking about when they coined the term 'Kaleidoscope eyes.'

_Betty in the Sky with Diamonds._

She shrugs sadly and he reaches for the remote, clicking off the TV. She points at the screen, almost whimpering like a small child.

" _Now, now…_  that's enough Hugh Grant for today," he teases gently. Betty smiles back at him weakly, wiping her eyes. She takes in one of those staggered breaths that happen after a long cry. He feels bad for finding it so adorable. "Look… Being fired blows," he tells her, and she just looks back at him blankly. Obviously, it's a bit of an understatement. He shrugs nonchalantly, "or, I mean. So I've heard.  _I've_  never been canned before…"

Betty laughs and playfully tosses a couch pillow at him, and he dodges it.

"You're  _such_  an ass," she chuckles, and he just smiles back at her triumphantly. At least he got her to laugh. That's a win for  _Team Jones_.

"You're gonna find another job, Betts. And then another. And then  _another-_ "

"Is that supposed to make me feel  _better?_ " she asks flatly, but she keeps her smile. Jughead can't help himself. He reaches forward and takes her face in his hands before planting a quick, chaste kiss on her lips. It seems to stun her. If he's being honest, he stuns himself.

"Yes." Betty looks dazed and flushed, but she smiles back at him shyly and Jughead has no idea why he was compelled to do such a thing. But he's glad he did. "And one day," he says quietly, tucking her wild, loose curls behind her ear, "you're gonna find one that sticks. And it's going to be  _everything_  you ever wanted it to be."

"You're sure about that?" she wonders.

"I'm sure about  _you_." Betty's eyes don't leave his, and her plump lips part as she exhales softly. It is as though his words took the wind out of her. "I think you can do anything you set your mind to. You're brilliant, Betty." He  _wants_  to sweep her off her feet. She deserves that and so, so much more. But for now… she'll have to walk. He takes her hand, standing from the couch and encouraging her to do the same, "c'mon. Come with me."

They get up and her eyes cast down to the pink book in his hand, "what's that?" she wonders. He tosses it on the couch, waving her off.

"It's nothing. I'll give that to you later," he says. "For now, just follow me."

* * *

Jughead leads her out of the apartment door and up the stairs, and to the access door leading to the roof - he pulls out Ms. Epstein's key, the  _only_  key, and pushes the door open.

"What is all of this?" Betty manages to utter when Jughead takes her out onto the rooftop. Her gaze cannot seem to focus on just one thing: there's the lights, the table set up for two, the couch, the projector… It all looks like it's straight out of some kind of Bohemian fairytale.

Which wasn't exactly what Jughead was going for, but  _she_ seems to love it.

"Ms. Epstein lives in the penthouse. I deliver her packages to her and help her out here and there, so she said I could use her private rooftop access whenever I want. And I felt…." Jughead hands Betty a brimming glass of champagne (in a  _goblet_ , no less). He once again pushes her blonde hair from her face, "I felt like today was one of those days."

"It's absolutely stunning out here."

Betty settles into the couch and leans her head back, looking up at the dark, inky blue night sky. She breathes, she relishes in the breeze. She relaxes.  
That's all he really wanted for her.

"So what'll it be?" he wonders, holding up three movie choices for the projector - it's aimed right at the back of Mrs. Epstein's apartment on a white brick wall, a perfect backdrop for their movie night.

"What are my choices?" Jughead looks down at the movies in his hands.

"It looks like we've got a choice between  _Annie Hall_ ," (he holds it up), " _Breakfast at Tiffany's,_ " (then that one), "or the classic, philosophical tale…  _Dude, where's my Car?_ "

Betty snorts, her head falling back with laughter. He tosses it at her like a frisbee and it lands on her lap.

"Why does Mrs. Epstein have that movie?"

"It's actually mine," Jughead confesses. "Please don't take away my junior-film-critic card."

"I am pretty sure we could find  _some_  sort of depth to  _Dude, Where's My Car?_ "

"You can't," he comes back quickly, "I already tried it. The film is garbage. Solid-gold garbage."

" _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ ," Betty selects, and Jughead feels his lips curve into a prideful smile -  _excellent choice_. "It's one of my favorites."

_Even better._

They tear through most of the snacks pretty quickly, and then mostly just pay attention to the movie - aside from a short conversation about Mickey Rooney's incredibly racist portrayal of  _I. Y. Yunioshi_  and how it definitely didn't stand the test of time.

But mostly… they just sit together closely, watching the movie and enjoying each other's company. Jughead's arm somehow ends up draped over her shoulders and her leg somehow ends up draped across his lap and it feels like it's always been like this.

By the time the end credits roll, he notices she's crying. Not sobbing, just watching quietly as tears stream down her cheeks and the symphony swells with  _Moon River_. Jughead mutes the movie and turns on his own playlist instead and soon a familiar song bleeds from the speakers around them.

"Betts? You okay?"

" _Huh?_ " she hums, pulled from her thoughts. She sniffs and wipes her cheeks, "oh, yeah... I'm fine."

"Do you always cry at happy endings,  _ooorrr...?_ " Jughead teases, nudging her softly. She smiles back, but it's not as happy as some of her other smiles he's seen. He worries his brow, "are you sure you're okay?"

"Oh, it's nothing. I'm just being a baby. It's been a long day."

"Okay…" he replies, but he's not so convinced. He doesn't want to push her, so he is relieved when she continues without more coaxing.

"It's just… I have seen that movie  _a hundred_  times and only just realized that… that wasn't a happy ending."

"What are you talking about?" Jughead scoots away from her just slightly to get a better look at her. His thumb rubs circles on her shoulder, "They found the cat. They're in love. They share a kiss in the rain… I mean, that is a trademark happy, Hollywood ending."

"But what happens to them  _after?_ " Betty muses. She bites onto her bottom lip and her glossy eyes trail back over to the rolling credits. Jughead lets out a surprised chuckle.

"No one worries about what happens after the credits."

"Exactly," she exclaims. "But if you pay attention through the movie, you'll see that they are  _doomed_. Their relationship couldn't have possibly survived beyond the constraints of the movie. She warned him not to love a  _wild thing_. That she belonged to nobody. But he wouldn't listen, he still wanted her. She is just going to hurt him."

"I mean…" Jughead says softly, scooting closer to her again, "that's not true. She changed her mind-"

"People don't really change like that, Juggie." Jughead's stomach sinks the moment he starts to realize that… is she talking about  _herself…?_

_Is… is this a warning?_

" _Sure_  they do," Jughead reassures her. "She fell in love. Love changes people."

"And I just keep thinking about what he said to her… that she keeps herself in a cage and that she'll never escape it. He said,  _It's wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself._ He was right. And… and sometimes I wish I could run away from myself."

"Betty…" Jughead turns toward her, enveloping her small hands in his. He gives them a slight shake as he tells her, "I know I haven't known you very long but… you are  _nothing_  like Holly Golightly. She is scared of love because she thinks it is a prison.  _You're_ not like that. I mean… look how much you liked Archie  _so_  quickly-"

"That's exactly my point," Betty sighs, turning to face him. Her hand pulls from his to rests on his bicep, "I pick these people who I am incapable of actually loving. Who  _incapable_  of loving  _me_. Archie wasn't the first. And I'm more than terrified he won't be the last."

Jughead swallows, nervously asking her, "are you scared of being  _hurt?_  Or are you scared of hurting someone?"

"Both… I  _think._ " she takes in a staggered breath, bravely admitting, "But I think I'm  _mostly_  scared I'm not deserving of love."

Jughead can't believe what he's hearing. How could she ever think that? She personified love. She  _is_ love. "Why would you  _ever_  think that?"

"I don't know," she chokes out quickly - she knows how insane it sounds. Still, she heaves a small shrug. "How I was raised? The way my mother was-?"

"You want to talk about messed up parents?" Jughead challenges. "My mom took my sister and left me with my alcoholic father when I was fifteen." As Jughead confesses this, he watches her big eyes round beneath sloped, sympathetic eyebrows. "Yeah. You know how in nature it's pretty common that mothers are protective of their young? It's that mother-bear complex that ties all the way back to the stone ages. There is just supposed to be this instant, protective,  _loving_ connection. My mother didn't have that instinct - at least not with me. And maybe it was that lack of instinct that made it so easy to leave me when I was just a kid."

" _Oh, Jug_ ," she breathes, her hand reaching up to cup his cheek, comfortingly.

"Or," he hucks out a humorless laugh, "and I'm aware just how improbable and unfair this theory might be, but... maybe I just wasn't deserving of her love that I was owed just by being born. So… try carrying  _those_  thoughts around in your head every day."

"Jughead, that's crazy. Of  _course_  that's not true."

He smiles, leaning into the softness of her palm.

She's getting it.

"That's my point, Betty. We might be products of our upbringing, but we are not our parents. You  _are_  deserving of love. I don't think I've ever met someone  _more_ deserving of love. I just… I wish you could see yourself the way I do."

"And vice versa," Betty smirks and sighs, taking another drink of her champagne. Jughead does the same, and his cheeks feel warm from the alcohol and he tries to pretend like he doesn't notice the way she is looking at him.

_Again._

The music player shifts, a new song starting. Her eyes close and she seems to physically let the music wash over her, "I  _love_ this song," she confesses, swaying back and forth. Jughead's eyebrows raise in surprise and he just smiles, a slight look of recognition on his face.

"Wait… you know Rodriguez?  _No one_ knows Rodriguez," he says. It's one of his favorites, and listening to it now fills him with a strange, homesick feeling.

"Searching for Sugarman?" Betty nods, her smile widening.  _Of course_  Betty Cooper knows about the phenomenon that is Sixto Rodriguez when 98% of people in this world have no idea about him. "This is my favorite song of his. Well, after ' _Cause_ ', of course," she sighs and shakes her head wistfully. "It's so sad how he lived in destitute here in the states but was insanely famous in South Africa. It's like… mind-blowing."

Jughead couldn't hide his grin if he tried. He just stares at this perfect specimen in front of him and shakes his head, fondly complimenting, "You continue to impress me, Miss Cooper." Her sun-kissed cheeks pinken at his words. She hides shyly behind her drink, her eyes sparkling. "Let's dance," Jughead suggests suddenly, and he watches as her smile fades into a look of terrifying seriousness.

"Oh, no we don't have to. I mean, I don't-" Betty attempts to object, her free hand reaching forward to halt him. Jughead is already standing, his open palm extended out towards her. Betty stares at him reluctantly, and he rolls his shoulder, "I know, it's corny. And if you ever told anyone I did this, I'll deny it and call you a liar… But, c'mon, you're practically dancing already anyway," he points out. He takes her hand without permission and pulls her up to him with very little resistance on her part. "Might as well have a partner."

"It's so  _cheesy_ ," she snorts embarrassedly, but she is intrigued nonetheless.

Jughead sets his face to stone as he declares, "we owe it to Sugarman, Betty."

" _Okayyyy,_ " she says almost inaudibly, slipping off her shoes. Jughead doesn't wait to take ahold of her waist, bringing her body to his. It feels like she was made for his arms.

"Is that all you got, Cooper?" he teases, and Betty seems to realize just how stiffly she is moving. "I know for a fact that you have better moves than this. I've seen you shakin' it in my kitchen to Al Green." She tries to keep her face straight, but his coy smile makes one break on her face anyway. She laughs quietly, her head falling back lazily.

"What am I going to do with you?" she groans, pressing her chin against his shoulder. His hands grip her a little closer, and he feels her relax under her touch. She now moves like water. He rests his temple to hers as they sway together silently. Her cheek is warm against his, he can feel her breath on his neck.

 

_Just a song we shared I'll hear_

_Brings memories back when you were here_

_Of your smile, your easy laughter_

_Of your kiss, those moments after_

_I think of you_

_And think of you_

_And think of you_

 

"Jughead?" He hears her say low and close to his ear, and he closes his eyes at the sound of her voice saying his name. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to it.

He never wants to. He wants it to make his heart skip a beat every time, forever.

" _Hmm?_  " he somehow manages to reply, albeit weakly.

"You're deserving of love, too," she promises him. She pulls from him just slightly, looking up at him with those fever-dream, kaleidoscope eyes, "You  _know_  that... right?"

Jughead doesn't respond, just shifts his neck so he can look at her.

That's when he decides he is going to tell her. He  _needs_ to tell her that these last few days have been the happiest of his life, and he only has  _her_  to thank. He never realized just what was missing until now. That his world was incomplete before she walked into his bar, soaking wet and lovesick. She makes him lovesick now.

How is she the cause and the cure, all at the same time?

His mouth falls open, but then, the song comes to a close, and " _Fat Bottom Girls_ " by Queen has to come on right after to thoroughly kill the moment. Her eyes widen, equally surprised by the change of genre and tone.

" _Fat Bottom Girls_?  _Really_?" Betty laughs, despite herself. Her eyes narrow at him playfully, "Who  _are_  you?"

"My music taste is vast," he shrugs, nonchalantly.

" _Apparently_ ," she says quietly, her face close to his, and they both realize they are still holding onto one another. She smiles wryly, offering, "more champagne?" Naturally, he agrees, and can't help but notice the intoxicating hopefulness behind her eyes.

Jughead plops back down onto the couch and into the pillows as she refills their glasses, one at a time.

"Do you… wanna talk about it?" she asks, and her eyes are shining brighter than the stars above them and it makes Jughead want to choke on his own words before he's even managed to get them out in the first place. She drops back down right beside him, their bodies close.

"Talk about…  _what?_ "

"The thing that we've both been avoiding talking about?" she goes on, but elaborates when Jughead says nothing, "that we've…  _kissed,_ " she breathes, and he is suddenly very aware of the space between them on that heavily-pillowed patio couch and the fact that she's scooting even closer to him, her hand finding the back of his neck, comfortingly. Her touch soothes him and he can feel her breath on his cheek as she inches closer. His hand feels heavy on her bare leg that is once again draped across his lap.

"Uh- _huh…_ "

"A  _few_  times, actually." She sounds proud and that makes  _him_  proud. "And the fact that we've spent the last week acting like we are a couple that have been together forever… but we just  _met…_ "

Her words are sparse and far away and he tilts his head just slightly into her warm, soft breath just to feel nearer to her. She smells like chocolate and marshmallows and champagne.

"Yeah," he replies, short and curt but only because he doesn't even know how to lay out the contents of his heart without writing an entire symphony. He clears his throat, his eyes fluttering closed because he's honestly scared to look into her eyes as he tells her, "yeah, maybe we should talk about that."

"What's the deal, Jones?" she says and even though his eyes are closed he can hear the smile in her voice. It makes him smile, too.

"I just… I dunno. I'm crazy about you." His thumb slowly grazes against the smooth, soft skin of her bare leg. He opens his eyes and they meet with hers right away, and he can't look at anything other than her waiting, eager face. "And… I've never really felt this way, I guess? Never been with someone I wasn't willing to lose. Because… people leave me. And I was always sort of okay with that."

She nods him on, and her eyes are like emeralds and her lips are like pink rose petals.

He is lost in her, so completely, utterly lost.

He grips her hand and continues, "and I… I know I haven't known you for very long. But I know that I don't want to lose you. So I'm just  _here-_ " He chuckles without humor and  _are these actual tears in his eyes?_  "-I'm just here spending as much time with my new best friend as I can… because before I know it, we'll inevitably have to go back to real life. And you'll leave too. Just like the rest of them."

Betty whimpers, her lips pressing softly against his and her free hand reaching up to cup his cheek. Jughead leans into her kiss, his heart feeling both emptier and fuller at the same time.

They part, but his mind can't stop thinking about her palm as she drops her hand and hides it within the sleeve of her soft, pink sweater. He reaches for it once more, pulling it back out and running his fingers along the scars.

"And since we are speaking our truth…" Jughead begins, his words trailing off, somewhat nervously. He is caught between wanting to ask about her scars and not wanting to overstep. He doesn't want to make her feel put on the spot, but he  _cares_ about her.

"You're wondering about my scars, aren't you?" she asks and answers at the same time, and he's thankful he doesn't have to.

"It just… it looks like you've been doing it for a long time, is all."

She sighs and sets down her drink, raking her nails through her golden hair, "I thought you might ask." Her fingers slowly peel open like a blossom in the spring, and they both look down at the moon-shaped indents in her soft, pink flesh. "I've actually… never told anyone about this before," she says, a low rumble. That statement both makes Jughead feel  _too_ special and  _too_ intrusive, all at once.

He insists, "you don't have to-"

"I  _want_ to," she tells him, and now her electric green eyes stare back at him with an intensity he hasn't seen in her yet. It just makes him realize how much more he has yet to unravel and how much he  _desperately_  wants to. She holds her hands out in front of her, studying her pain that manifests on her palms - one hand is still concealed with the bandage from the night before. She sighs again, "sometimes… I feel too much," she confesses, then shrugs. "And other times, I feel nothing at all. It's like… it's like it rains down on me. And I don't know what's worse: drowning in it, or dying of the thirst."

Jughead recognizes these words. He read them before. Because she's written them before. They were on a paper she submitted to the Professor Kelley last term. He'd made a copy and read it over coffee the next morning, and his stomach churns when he realizes the way he had just simply grazed over her cry for help, none the wiser. He had actually underlined her pain in the searing red ink of a ballpoint pen. Wrote ' _nice imagery_ ' in the margins of her heart.

And then… he filed it away in a drawer somewhere and never thought much of it again. All the while, she wore the poem on her palms  _every_  day.

And again, because he wants so badly to ease the aching inside of her that compels her to hurt herself so, Jughead kisses her hands and then holds them in his own. She just looks up at him with tears in her eyes that almost match his own. She leans in slowly, but stops right before their lips meet once more.

Before she can stop herself, she tells him: "I  _want_  you, Jug."

His breath hitches gently as he just stares back at her expectant but terrified face. He melts when her eyes soften the moment his hand comes up to rest on the side of her face. His thumb traces over her cheek and he's in awe at how silky her skin is, "are you sure…?"

She answers his question with a kiss, one that lingers. They break and she nods without taking her gaze from his. A small, mischievous smile cracks across her porcelain face.

"Well… I think that's pretty obvious," she says definitely, and she looks as though she is surprised at her own brazenness. Jughead's heart is damn near pounding out of his chest and his mind is on autopilot. "Do  _you_  want to?" she wonders suddenly, her hand dropping down slightly to hintingly tug at the collar of his shirt.

He can only seem to answer her in a low, breathless sigh. A nod. He can't silence the screaming in his head that is reminding him that he doesn't deserve her. He leans forward, their foreheads almost touching, " _You are—…_ " he trails off. Betty waits for him to finish, but he can't seem to find the words. He shakes his head quickly, trying to will the voices away, or talk himself out of it. He's not quite sure which, and he's certainly not sure why he's hesitating at all.

His lips move against hers, almost cautiously. With bravery he never imagined Betty possessing, she raises herself up on her knees before swinging one leg over him. She is straddling him on the couch, their mouths parting but it is as though she is breathing life into him, his eyes searching hers in the dimly lit world around them.

And then it as though everything that they built together these past few days, all of those fragmented moments, suddenly flash before his eyes and it is like a million fireworks going off around him. He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her firmly against him. His lips crash into hers in a desperate frenzy; he has wanted this too long to deny it any longer.

Her hands are in his hair, fingers clenching when his tongue finds hers. But then she is pressing forward, her mouth covering all of his as her hair falls all around them. Her body sinks down to rest directly on top of his and the direct contact is almost too much to handle already. He hisses through his teeth and writhes from her to catch his breath. She tries following him, her lips seeming to need his. He chuckles quickly as his hand rests on her collarbone, pushing her gently from him.

"What's wrong?" she asks, breathlessly.  _Worriedly_. Her lips look swollen and raw already.

He shakes his head, silently telling her nothing is wrong. His hands are in her hair, pushing it over her shoulders. He leans forward, pressing his lips to her neck, although without kissing.

"My brain just needs a minute to catch up," he mumbles against her, words on skin. He notices that his voice low and raspy.

Still, she holds onto him greedily -  _hungrily_.

He can hear her lips part into a smile as she suggests, "Let's leave our brains outta this, shall we?"

He smiles broadly against her skin; she might be right. And then his lips are moving on her neck, his mouth sucking on a sensitive spot below her ear. She whimpers softly and involuntarily cocks her head to the side to give him better access. Her mouth drops open in bliss as he continues to focus on the sweet spot.

"Jughead…" his name escapes her throat and as if just hearing her say his name was all he needed, he feels himself harden between them. His hands grip onto her hips as he presses her down toward him, her hips moving just enough to create friction and elicit a moan from her.

Jughead shivers at the sound, and it is all he can do to tear his lips from her neck so he can kiss her in wild abandonment. His hands move down to her thighs, his thumbs rubbing circles dangerously close to her inner thighs. They roam further and he's quite certain that Betty's inner thighs are the softest thing he's ever touched, and just the thought of that alone almost sends him over the edge all over again. That quickly, he is breaking away from her again, their breaths coming out ragged and harsh.

"You're gonna have to slow down," he warns in a low growl and then letting out a quick laugh, "I'm not gonna make it to the end otherwise."

"Oh, come now, Jughead…" she pouts, biting the softness of her bottom lip as she grinds against him. Although, just like him, she is hardly responsible for her body's actions at this point. She leans in with half-lidded eyes and purrs, "I'm sure you've done this  _plenty_ of times."

His gaze locks with hers and that is all he has to do to tell her that isn't true.

Her eyes widen briefly, in shock, her hands cupping his face, her whispered breath allowing a, "Wait…. What?  _Really…?_ "

He laughs, peppering kisses along the side of her mouth then her jaw, "I mean, I'm not  _completely_  new at this. But I'm certainly not as experienced as  _you_ seem to think.."

Betty huffs out a giggle and crinkles her nose, "how is that even possible? You are like…  _majorly_  hot."

Even sitting comfortably between her legs, the blush still finds its way to Jughead's cheeks, "I was a late bloomer," he admits, then adds hesitantly, " _and…-_ "

" _Aaaaand?_ " she coaxes softly.

Jughead sighs, his shoulders slumping. He tucks some of her golden hair behind her ear as he tells her, "and I've only ever slept with people I've had feelings for." He doesn't go on to tell her that those other times had proven to be short-lived, and  _never_ like this. And just how utterly wrong he'd been and why does he suddenly wish he'd waited for her?

He was  _always_  waiting for her.

But his answer seems to make her swell with emotion enough as it is. So he says nothing more.  
Betty brings their lips together again, this time agonizingly slow, but caring. It is as if she suddenly realizes she wants to experience every second of this in slow motion. Maybe to memorize it, the way he wants to. Lock it in the back of her mind as the most amazing experience he'd had to date.

As they kiss Betty's hands fumble a bit, but then find their way to the bottom of his gray t-shirt. She wiggles it up a bit, helping him get the shirt over his head. Her pink fingernails skim his stomach and she watches him suck in a breath at her touch. She leans forward and presses her mouth to his shoulder, then his chest. Jughead can feel his heart beating wildly against her lips.

"Be gentle with me. I'm  _delicate,_ " he utters jokingly, never one to spoil an opportunity to ruin a moment. Betty looks up at him, a smile spreading across her lips before she leans back down and kissed his chest once more. His hands running up and down the smooth length of her arms, gripping, touching. She begins to pepper kisses down his stomach, all the way down to the hem of his jeans. Betty brings her shaking hands to the button of his pants, suddenly aware of just how real this was now, before she sat up, almost losing her nerve.

"Hey…" Jughead says and his words waver but somehow stay strong as he assures her, "we do not have to do this if you've changed your mind." And although he is trying his best to be a perfect gentleman, a part of him is praying that she isn't having second thoughts. He glances around the veranda, beginning to second guess this entire evening. Betty is still straddling his knees as she bites her thumbnail, nervously. But then… she smiles at him. And it lights up the universe.

She laces her fingers behind his neck, her thumbs gently rubbing across the smoothness of his skin as she finds his eyes with hers.

"This is  _perfect_. I want to do this," she reassures him. They laugh nervously together before things feel incredibly real again. "Jughead… It's perfect because it's with  _you_." He kisses her again. He presses forward, farther and farther, guiding Betty backward until her back lay flush against the plush cushions of the couch. Jughead tries to empty his mind as she lays beneath him, crushed beneath the pressure of his body.

After a few moments of awkward stiffness and giggles between then, his hands begin to roam her body more comfortably, trailing down her sides, her hips, her thighs again. Betty groans when his hands slink under her knees, helping her wrap them around his waist. Holding her as close to him as their bodies will allow, his lips move down her neck again.

Jughead's hand slowly slide up her shirt, and everywhere he touches leaves goosebumps; he isn't so certain it is just his touch and not the sting of the cool, night air hitting every place he exposed. Betty grabs ahold of the bottom of her shirt, shimmying it off of her so she can match him, and he wants so badly to discover what it feels like when his skin presses against hers. He moans into her neck when their bodies touch, like they are electric.

The more she grinds her hips against his, the more prominently Jughead can feel his hardness pressing against her. The pressure is enough to drive him over the edge and he isn't even inside of her yet. Is this what they had been missing out on all this time?

Jughead knows more certainly than ever that this is their destiny.

He supposes Betty is feeling brave again, reaching her hand between them to finish unfastening his buttons. She reaches inside, taking ahold of him firmly in her hand. Jughead groans, low in his throat and Betty's smirk on her pouted pink lips shows a slight satisfaction knowing that she is the one eliciting such a reaction from him. His body tenses a bit, his mind was incapable of focusing on anything else while she is touching him like this, and his lips stop moving against her neck.

Jughead pulls away from her suddenly - so fast that perhaps Betty might think she'd done something wrong if his fumbling hands didn't directly reach for the hem of her leggings. Betty raises her hips, helping him slide them off, and he tosses them aside quickly.

Jughead's hands graze down the length of each of Betty's long, silky-smooth legs, then back up to her thighs before he lowers himself back down upon her. He pauses, props himself up by his elbows as he stares down at her, smoothing out her pretty blonde hair that was surrounding her head like a halo now.

_No._

Like a  _sunflower._

And the floral pattern of the old couch makes her look like she's lying in a field of wildflowers -  _how fitting._ He's fairly certain he's never seen anything more beautiful.

"I think I will always remember you just…  _like_ …  _this_ ," he says quietly, leaning down to kiss her chin, her lips, her nose with each pause. Betty jumps a bit, sucking in a sharp breath when she feels his fingers ghost over her inner thigh before his hand presses against her most sensitive area between her legs. She is warm and welcoming, and Jughead can't think straight when he is touching her like this - when she is  _letting_  him touch her like this.

Betty reaches for his face, bringing Jughead's mouth to hers to lay claim to his once more, this time more frenzied and frantic than before. Things get blurry -  _sweaty_  - as their breaths become more and more shallow and their movements more determined. Betty's hand reaches down between them, fumbling clumsily for his belt.

Jughead quickly slips his hand from the dampness between her legs to help, reaching down to free himself of his jeans. Betty's eyes flutter open as she feels him graze against her, a different sensation. She lets her legs fall more open, welcoming him, inviting him further.

And then Betty's hand lightly touches his face and his eyes flash with hers. She gives the smallest nod, giving him permission.

Jughead presses his hips forward into Betty once, cautiously, caringly. He waits, the two of them sighing into it, taking in the new sensation - it's perfect. It feels as though they were made for each other and Jughead prays on all that is holy that she feels the same way he does at this very moment. She wraps her arms tightly around him, pulling his chest close to hers in an embrace while she places fleeting, sporadic kisses and nips against his shoulder.

Jughead presses forward again, and there's no going back now that he's here. He begins to move against her while Betty rocks her body beneath him, their bodies in another dance, of sorts.

Jughead's low voice growls involuntarily as his hand slips up her shirt, cupping her breast.

"Jug," she gasps and his mouth catches her surprised, yet delighted, whimper.

Jughead thrusts deeper into her as he slips his tongue further into her mouth and she seems to purr with approval. The way he is hitting her seems to be the right place, and when he keeps deeper and closer contact, it begins to send her over the edge. He wants to fuse into her, become one being. And he is aware how insane that seems but no amount of closeness seems to be close enough. He wants to be smothered by her, suffocated under the crushing pressure.

She moans again, louder this time and again it just encourages Jughead even further. He finds himself falling in love with the sounds of their mingled cries. He knows she's close, and he's relieved because her soft mews and sounds are making it hard not to lose it, himself.

And then, she tenses beneath him. Her back arches against him and her head falls back, her mouth opening for a soundless yell. Jughead catches sight of her ecstasy, a stupid grin spreading across his lips as he quickens his pace. It only takes a couple of Betty's uncontrollable moans near Jughead's ear before he succumbs as well.

And if he thought their first kiss sent him spiraling out into that vast, vacant universe… this was a whole different level of bliss.

He doesn't think he'll ever come back down from this.

Betty bites onto her swollen lip, her heart beating hard against his and her breath rapid and her eyes squeezed shut. She pulls Jughead's agape mouth to hers once more and then opens her eyes. Seeing her look up at him with so much love in her gaze and his body begins to come crashing back down to earth.

_All is still._

_All is silent._

_All is well._

Their serious, intense faces don't last, and before they know it they both break into delirious laughter. It is almost as though neither of them can even begin to understand just what happened to them. For Jughead it was almost like an out of body experience, and he can only hope she feels the same.

"Well, you really know how to cheer a girl up," Betty sighs sweetly. Jughead doesn't want her to move from him just yet but she does anyway, rolling from beneath him and nestling in beside him. Jughead quickly extends his arm out for her to lay her head on his chest as his other hand reaches beside him for the patio blanket. He covers them lazily, with many parts of them still exposed to the night air.

"Can I confess something?" Betty asks him, her voice soft and far away. He glances down at her, and he feels like he should be nervous, but her tone and her huge grin tells him this can only be good.

"What's that?" he wonders, his thumb tracing circles against her shoulders. She rolls into him, her chin resting against his chest as she looks up at him. Her smile broadens, as if that were even possible, "I've been wanting to do that since the first night I met you."

He's flattered.

And at ease.

He wants to admit that he's been wanting to do that since he first saw her in class. Since he first crawled into her mind through her writings and her flower doodles in the margins of her papers - the papers that spilled her mind's innermost contents.

The words that made him fall in love with her in the first place.

But… he doesn't.

Because suddenly he begins to wonder how she might feel knowing that he's already rifled through her mind without her consent.

Now he  _is_  feeling nervous.

"Me too," he finally says instead, his voice small. These thoughts remind him of the journal he bought her, the one that he left down in the apartment. He wants to give it to her. He wants her to write in it and fill it with her thoughts and her dreams and he never wants to read it. He wants it to be hers, to inspire her and restore the privacy he unintentionally took from her.

She shivers in his arms.

"It's getting chilly up here," she says. They sit up slowly, beginning to redress. She slips her legs through her leggings, standing to pull them up, "we should definitely go do that again," she insists, coyly. Jughead reddens, chuckles. She's too much, and yet he can't get enough.

"I'm gonna need a little bit of time to recover, I think," he says, buttoning and zipping his jeans, "But  _definitely._ " Jughead puts the fire out and Betty folds the blanket, holding back a yawn.

"I want to give you something, it's back down in the apartment," Jughead tells her. She nods.

"Okay, I'll grab the snacks and champagne and meet you down there." She steps to him, slipping her arms around his waist and bringing his body to hers. "You should probably get ready for round two," she warns before smiling deviously, pressing another kiss to his mouth.

"You're going to be the death of me," Jughead mutters against her lips and she just giggles. "Meet me down there?"

"I'll be right there," she says. And Jughead turns to head back down to the apartment.

Jughead can't stop the stupid grin from spreading across his face as he practically skips back down the stairs. He doesn't care that it's past midnight - he's whistling down the hallways. He jingles his keys in his hand as he unlocks his apartment door, but then…

Then his stomach drops.

He can hear some music leaking from inside. It sounds like someone is strumming away on the guitar. Jughead enters quietly and the music intensifies. There is a huddled mass beside the front door is a duffle bag and jacket, left carelessly slumped against the wall. Jughead doesn't have to even round the corner into his living room before it all comes together. He steps out in the living room, and there on the couch is his red-headed roommate, strumming mindlessly on his battered, old acoustic guitar.

"Archie. You're home early," Jughead says, his words burning in his throat.

Archie looks up and his eyes brighten when he sees his friend, "hey roomie. What's new?"

* * *

_TBC_


	9. break it to me gently, let me down the easy way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the honeymoon is over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: I took a hiatus for a while, but I'm hoping the new season has motivated me to at least wrap up a couple of my bughead stories, especially this one. I'm not too happy with the way this turned out but I am my own worst critic. I believe the next chapter will be the last.

* * *

 

_"Dude… you alright?"_

It feels like it takes  _far_ too long for Jughead to respond to his friend's question.

" _Yeah!_ " Jughead's voice squeaks, and he hates that the incriminating pitch gives it away that he is perhaps  _not_ alright.

Archie just chuckles uncomfortably and squishes up his face, "Are you  _sure?_  'Cause you're...  _sorta_ lookin' at me like I just came back from the dead or something."

' _Or something_ ,' all right.

_Busted._

Now it's  _Jughead's_  turn to chuckle uncomfortably.

He can't seem to find the right words as fast as he'd like, so he simply waves Archie off as nonchalantly as he can muster at the moment. However, Jughead's attempts to appear casual never typically come off as such, and this is no exception. Archie still doesn't seem all too convinced as he rises from the couch, setting his guitar carefully on the ground beside him with a hollow  _thud_. He stretches, yawns, and leisurely strolls toward the kitchen as though nothing has changed - as though Jughead's last few days with Betty never happened.

For a split second, even  _Jughead_  almost forgets. He's too shell-shocked by the sudden change of events. He tries to make sense of it all - he had literally just talked to Archie a few hours ago and he'd said the lake house was great and he never wanted spring break to end… and now, he was here?

Interrupting.

_Intruding._

Sure.

It's  _his_  apartment, too. But this unexpected arrival feels most unwelcoming; having him home  _right_  in the middle of what has surely been the best week of Jughead's life.

Jughead sucks in a breath, finally finding the will to speak. He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, clearing the nerves that feel lodged his throat.

"So, uh… What happened? I thought you weren't coming home 'til this weekend…" Jughead mutters, his eyes darting to the front door and back to Archie as he realizes that Betty is going to be bursting into the apartment  _any second now._

Archie shrugs in that careless sorta way - that  _Archie_  sorta way. So earnest and all-innocence - as though he has no idea the effect he has on others.

The effect he had on  _Betty_. He treated her as though she were nothing -  _disposable_ \- and now he was here, just in time to ruin  _everything_.

Jug watches as Archie casually pops open a bag of potato chips and begins munching; for some reason, it's infuriating. His muffled words somehow make it out through the mouthful, "I know. But I basically ran out of money and we sorta got rained out." He swallows and sets the bag down, wiping his salt-dusted fingers on his blue jeans. "So I thought I'd just come home before I ended up completely stranded."

"Oh, yeah... makes sense…" Jughead rattles off, absently. His mind and his eyes are occupied with thoughts of Betty emerging from the front door to be completely bombarded by this unraveling situation. Jughead decides it's better to just get it out in the open before that happens. "Uh, hey. Arch. I need to tell you something-"

"Who's your new friend?" Archie asks suddenly, and Jughead feels a wave of nervous heat wash over him.

" _What?_ No one.  _Who?_ " he stammers out quickly -  _guiltily_. Archie winces his face, giving him a funny look. "I meant the bear," Archie explains, shaking his head. "You're acting  _really_  weird."

He watches helplessly as Archie picks up the pink Teddy he'd "won" Betty at the pier.

 _Mr. Bartholomew Hugglesworth._ Archie holds the stuffed animal up and it's just shooting Jughead daggers with those soulless, beady, black, marble eyes.

_Judging him._

"Oh, yeah. I won that at the pier-"

"You went to the pier?" Archie says, but doesn't seem to believe, "aside from work or class, I've never even seen you never even leave the loft!"

"Yeah I-" Jughead once again tries to tell Archie, but his words are cut off once more.

"Wait, was it like a date? Did you go with a girl?" His eyebrows are high and his interest has perked, but Jughead can only feel the frustration of trying to get the words out without being interrupted.

Archie.

_Always interrupting._

"Sort of," Jughead tries, but it's too late. The apartment door swings open and there's Betty, standing in the doorway.

"Betty-" Jughead chokes out, his eyes as wide as saucers.

"Betty," Archie breathes, confusion painting his features.

Betty looks just as puzzled, her mouth falling open as she stares between the two of them. Her arms are full of the supplies from the roof, her cheeks still rouged from everything that had happened only moments before, but also mortification.

"Archie… what are you doing here?" she can only ask, and Jughead braces himself for what's about to come when Archie's eyebrows lower and he curiously asks her, "wait… you're not here to see me?"

Betty clearly doesn't know what to say to that; her eyes dart to Jughead's, pleadingly.

"She's here with me," he says for her so she doesn't have to. Archie's face reflects that of a man who is piecing a mystery together.

"I see…" Archie says, but he certainly doesn't look happy about it.

The uncomfortable silence settling in between the three of them is heavy, and Jughead finds himself shifting on his feet under the weight of it.

"When did this start?" Archie asks, gesturing between the two of them.

Jughead shrugs and tries to say, "about a week ago," but Betty steps forward, setting her things down on the table beside the front door and approaching them.

"About the time you stood me up, Archie." Archie looks like he wants to respond, but has no idea what to even say to that. "What's going on between Jughead and I honestly isn't really your business. We didn't do anything wrong - we don't have to explain anything to you," she adds, cattily.

"Betty…" Jughead utters, just trying to keep this powder keg from exploding.

"After all... it's not like we were an actual couple or anything, right Archie?" Betty reminds him. And while Jughead is proud of her for standing up for herself, he can't help but still feel uneasy about the complex layer added to his living situation.

"Obviously not," Archie snips back at her, unable to hold back the bitterness in his tone.

"Great," Betty smiles, but it's not bright or warm… it's cold and severe. Confident, even. But certainly not warm. "I'm going to bed," she announces, walking past a dumbfounded Archie toward Jughead's room. She glances back at Jug on her way by, "you coming?"

He doesn't wait to see what Archie says, just nods and turns to follow Betty down the hall and away from the terribly tense situation they'd found themselves in.

* * *

Once they are in the privacy of Jughead's room, he's not sure what to expect.

"S-sorry about that…" Jughead stutters. He pulls off his beanie sheepishly, tossing it aside. He's unable to look at her, now. Reality came crashing the party hard, and although he knows he shouldn't, he can't help but feel the littlest bit guilty about Archie.

There is a long, silent pause between them and he wishes he could read Betty's mind as she stands there by the bedroom door biting on her thumbnail. She shakes herself from her thoughts, smiling at him brightly.

"What?" Betty says, a hint of amusement hitching on her tone. She shakes her head, "don't be sorry.  _I'm_  not." And with those words, Jughead feels his shoulders unhinge from their tense position.

"Just… I didn't know he was going to be here. It's a little bit awkward."

" _Hmmm_ ," she hums, but it sounds like more of a wistful sigh, "I  _guess_  so. But I'm pretty certain it was way more awkward for him than for us."

_Us._

He will never get used to hearing that word and knowing he's one half of  _us_.

She steps closer to him, and he is pleasantly surprised when she slinks her arms around his waist and hugs onto him. He finally gazes down at her and into her eyes, and he can still see the luster in them from before - she is quite possibly unfazed by Archie's return to the loft, and it fills Jughead with an instant sense of relief.

He melts when Betty smiles into his lips, whispering, "I am still up for round 2 if you are…"

Jughead doesn't even have to think twice about it; in fact, he was sort of tired of thinking. All that matters is that Betty is still here with him now, and not with Archie.

 _Never_  with Archie.

Quickly his arm snaps out, grabbing ahold of Betty by the back of her neck and pulling her lips to his in a desperation that he didn't even know existed deep within him.

Betty accepts the kiss graciously, thankfully, her own lips smashing thirstily against his. She takes a step in, Jughead a step back, their bodies engaging in a dance of sorts as he pulled her into her closer.

Betty pushes him up against the door roughly with an uncaring  _thud_. Her fingers lock into his hair as if she is trying to keep him from leaving her. But she doesn't need to; the last thing on Jughead's mind is being anywhere other than where he is right now.

His hands trail her back, over her rear before he scoops her up with ease, and Betty hops up, locking her legs around his waist. He spins them around, reversing their roles as he pins her to his door, his tongue snaking out and slipping into her mouth. A slight, inviting moan escapes her lips.

They continue to paw at one another, clumsily.

_Passionately._

Betty's body seems to react on instinct, doing things she doesn't even seem to know she knew how. She tears at his jacket, trying to free him of the restriction before they work together to successfully discard it completely. Jughead carries her towards her bed, dropping her down on it roughly. He takes in the lustful sight of her and leans down, his body pinning hers down to the mattress as his lips find her neck.

Her shoulder.

Her chest.

His hand carefully and craftily inches up her stomach, under her shirt.

He breaks away from her and he's out of breath as he stares down at her half-lidded eyes. He can't decipher what the look in her eyes means; is this lust? Human nature?

Something more.

Her lips are pink and raw, her breathing ragged. Jughead leans down again, his lips roaming over her stomach, slowly slinking further down. She lifts her hips to allow him to slip her leggings off, gladly. His hands continue to explore her, every touch and kiss sending a wave of energy through her that made her move her body involuntarily, as though she was the puppet and he was the puppetmaster.

Their clothes soon decorate the floor before they climb into the very bed that they'd spent the last several nights in. Only this time, it's different. They waste no time losing the last of their clothes before becoming tangled within each other once more.

Jughead can't get enough of her. He imagines even if he were to spend the rest of his life with her, he would never tire of taking things slow and deliberate, every movement serving a well-defined and calculated purpose.

Even still, the connection between them is undeniable - she has to feel it too. Limbs become intertwined to the point where he wasn't sure where she ended and he began.

"I'm crazy about you, Betty," he finds himself whispering into her ear. He wants so badly to tell her he loves her, but it's too soon - the words are stuck in his throat and don't come out. He can feel her movements growing more and more deliberate, her heart thrashing against his. She claws her nails into his back, biting down upon his shoulder as a wave of ecstasy washed over her.

She's loud, but Jughead can't find it within him to care at this point and clearly neither can she. With that, Jughead quickly reaches his own end as well, as there was no point in prolonging the inevitable. He shudders above her, his mind drawing a blinding white blank, before he collapses down upon her, out of breath. He's crushing her with his body, crushing her with his love but she doesn't seem to mind. She presses a kiss into his neck, his shoulder.

She lovingly sighs.

"Well, I gotta say… I don't think I'll ever get tired of that," he chuckles a bit, out of breath. He rolls away from her, but not too far away. His arms still grasp onto her like he is scared she is going to scurry away.

Maybe he is.

"We weren't very quiet, were we?" he points out. Betty smirks, her hair a mess, as she turns in toward him, her face glowing and cheeks pink.

"Not really," she laughs, low and hoarse, laying her head gently on her pillow. "I'm sure he'll survive," she adds, pressing another quick kiss into his lips. They part and nestle into their pillows, but Jug can't resist the urge to reach up and touch her. His thumb traces the grooves of her lips, drinking in her soft features, staring at her with love in his eyes.

This is what happiness feels like.

He leans in, giving her one last lingering kiss before pulling her in close, holding her tightly to his chest. He closes his eyes smiles to himself when he listens to the steady sound of her breathing beside him. Things with Archie might be complicated or awkward for while, but it is a small price to pay for bliss like this.

Still… that relentless daylight will be creeping up on them, soon.

Tomorrow is coming.

* * *

The fact that it is raining the next day should have been Jughead's first clue that things had changed - that something had...  _shifted_.

He slept restlessly through the night, waking up to fret and worry regarding the  _actual_  confrontation he'd yet to have with Archie. But also scared of the way Betty might feel once she'd had a night's sleep. Maybe she'd wake up feeling differently about him? About  _everything_?

What if he was a distraction? Just a fling or a rebound?

These are the thoughts that keep him from sleeping steadily, but he finally dozes off sometime between the wee hours of morning and daybreak. When he wakes, he does it with an embarrassingly loud snort that just happens to jolt Betty awake, too.

"You okay?" She asks, her voice scratchy and startled.

"Yeah. I'm fine just... Waking up," Jughead mutters back groggily, shaking the fog out of his brain. The curtains are pulled shut so the room is still dark, leaving the time of day as a bit of a mystery. He rubs his eyes and tries to find his alarm clock, but it seems to have been knocked off the nightstand at some point during the night. "What time is it?"

Betty reaches over and checks her phone. She sits up suddenly and sounds a lot more awake when she astonishedly informs him, "Almost noon-!"

Jughead groans and stretches, then sinks back into his pillows, closing his eyes. "I've got to head to work soon."

He hadn't meant for it to sounds so...  _depressing_. But in a way, it is. Things feel different now, even though he knows that neither he nor Betty have changed. Just the presence of Archie in the apartment seems to be looming over them.

Betty rolls over clumsily, nestling into his chest and holding him in almost a death grip, "Ugh.  _No…_ no work. No school. I don't want to go back to real life.. _._ " she all but whines.

Jughead smoothes down her untamed hair to get a better look at her and can't help but feel the corners of his mouth pull into a smile. It's just so good with her. They just click, down to the effortless intimacy between them and the pouty look on Betty's full, inviting lips. Jughead can't help but laugh.

So, he does. Laughs deep in his throat and, before he knows it, he finds Betty rolling on top of him, eyes bright and lips upturned, quieting him with her grin against his.

Jughead knows that he and Betty still have a lot they need to talk about - things they are avoiding.

But for now, that would have to wait.

 _Round Three_  has commenced.

* * *

Jughead feels like a stranger in his own apartment, resorting to sneaking from his bedroom to get some coffee in the kitchen. As he takes two mugs from the cupboard and pours, the confrontation with Archie from the night before is still heavy on his mind - and he knows that it's still unfinished.

A big part of him hopes that this is just going to be one of those ' _guy things'_  that they simply ignore and just wait out the weirdness until it is a distant, unpleasant memory. When he narrowly bumps into Archie and almost spills the coffee between the two of them in the dining room, he can see that is not the case.

"Hey," his voice cracks, but Archie just gives him a tight smile before moving on to his bedroom. "Archie, wait," Jughead tries, and it seems to work. Archie slowly turns back around, but the tired, unimpressed look on his face tells Jughead that he's not really in the mood to hear what he has to say.

"Look… About Betty…" Jughead begins tentatively, waiting to gauge Archie's reaction, but his face remains unchanged. If anything, he looks even more impatient. Jughead sets the coffee down on the countertop. "It uh… It just sort of  _happened-_ "

"If you're trying to apologize, save it," Archie bites with a bit of an edge. He gives a haphazard, tight-shouldered shrug, "We're good. Just forget it."

And with that, he turns to skulk back to his room.

"Um. I wasn't apologizing," Jughead says evenly. Because he  _isn't_. Betty belongs to no one, not even him, and she wasn't some prize to be won. This wasn't a competition - what he and Betty had was so much more than even Archie knew, and Jughead wasn't about to let it be cheapened by some narrative that he had 'stolen' her from someone else.

Betty chose him. It was important to him that Archie knew that.

Archie squares up, and it almost seems like he's looking Jughead up and down to decide if he can take him or not. Jughead wants to roll his eyes at the machismo of it all. They are like two angry rams circling each other - but Jughead doesn't want to fight.

"Really?" Archie snorts, but he's not laughing. "Don't you think you  _should?_ "

"Why?"

"I'd say that's pretty obvious."

"Not to  _me_ ," Jughead drones back at him. He knows he's irritating Archie, but he truly wants to hear him say what he thinks is  _owed_ to him.

"Didn't you know that Betty and I had a thing going on?"

"Yeah, she mentioned that-"

"Okay, then?" Leave it to Archie to think he'd explained something without explaining anything at all. He was lucky that Jughead was good at reading between the lines.

"What  _was_  that thing, anyway?" Jughead wonders, his eyes narrowing accusingly.

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"How would you define it - what you and Betty had  _going on_." Jughead shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back coolly against the counter. "Because from what I heard, it sounds like you were sorta jerking her around-"

"Dude, would you listen to yourself? It's been a  _week_. You don't even know her and you act like you're in love with her or something."

Jughead swears if this were some sitcom, this is the moment they would have cued the crickets sounds - as he stands there in front of Archie now, he says nothing. It only takes a moment before it seems to dawn on Archie that what is going on with Jughead and Betty is more than just some petty betrayal… this is something real.

" _Seriously?_ " he breathes, cocking an eyebrow as though he thinks Jughead is crazy. Maybe Jughead  _is_ crazy. "Great. I've known you know for the last six months and never seen you so much as look at a girl. And now, out of all the girls in this college town, you have to go and fall for the one your roommate's been seeing?"

Archie's tone fills Jughead with indignant (and justified) frustration as he blurts, "Yeah, and out of all the girls in this college town, you're going to stand here and to try to lay claim to the one you have repeatedly treated like garbage?" He can feel that his cheeks have flushed and his nostrils have flared, and he tries to pull back before this ends up more confrontational that he wanted it to.

Archie looks dumbfounded and Jughead goes on, "She doesn't deserve that - you don't deserve her, Archie. Why can't you just let this go?"

To thoroughly break the tension, Archie's cell phone chimes. He reaches for it in his pocket and reads the text before reaching for his jacket.

"Consider me over it," he tells Jughead, slipping his arms through each sleeve one at a time. "I've got a date, anyway."

Because of course he does. Jughead isn't sure why he's so surprised.

"You certainly didn't waste any time..." Jughead mumbles. "So… we're good then?"

Archie doesn't answer, merely gives Jughead a brief nod and hurries out the apartment door. But something tells Jughead that Archie is going to be just fine.

* * *

When Jughead enters his bedroom, it feels like it takes a small eternity for him to process the scene unfolding before him. Betty is slumped down on the floor with her back against the end of his bed, her eyes hungrily drinking in the words from a paper in front of her. Various pages are fanned out across his bedroom floor, scattered around her.

When she looks up at him, her eyes are wide and wet. Her hand shakes as she holds the paper she's reading up to him.

Jughead's heart leaps to his throat and then plummets to the depths of his stomach.

The drawer to his desk is wide open. She's sitting amongst and clutching pages and pages of her own writing - writing that Jughead had no business having in the first place.

"What is this?" she asks him, her voice trembling. "Jughead. What.  _is_. this? Why do you  _have_ these?"

"Um…" He has no idea how to even begin to explain this without coming across as some kind of stalker. "I um… I got them from class…" It doesn't answer her question, and the look on her face tells him it's not enough. Of course it's not enough.

She gets to her feet, thumbing through pages, shaking her head in disbelief.

"So…  _What_  then? You've just been taking my work  _home_  with you? Photocopying my essays without my permission? Do you know how severely messed up that is-"

"Wait," Jughead found himself gesturing out towards her, his arm extended as though she were some scared animal, backing into a corner. He is scared to approach her, scared she is going to take off running if he comes any closer to her at this moment. He licks his lips and swallows, even though his throat is dry, "Betty, it's not like that-

"It  _looks_  like that-"

"I  _know_  how it looks. But if you'd  _just_  give me a chance to explain-"

"Oh, yes," Betty nods, her glossy stare burning holes into him. She crosses her arms, heaving an unconvinced, sarcastic shrug. He hates the way her eyes narrow with disdain now. Only moments ago they stared at him with love and admiration and now? She looked disgusted.

" _Please_. By all means. I'd  _very_  much like to hear this. Especially after the way you acted when  _\- God forbid -_  I read y _our_  work-"

He inwardly cringes when he recalls the way he jumped down her throat not even two days ago for innocently reading his work without his permission. He remembers how violating that felt. He doesn't want to admit it, but he can completely understand her anger.

"Betty, please calm down-"

"I  _am_  calm, Jughead," she snaps back at him and she's right. She is calm. She's angry, but she is the eye of a hurricane. She is a calm front while a storm rages inside. "And I'm  _waiting_. When did this even start? Since the beginning of class?"

"N-no. No… No not…" he can't seem to get his mouth to work right, so he pauses to get his wits about him. How could this have all gone so horribly wrong? "Not… since the beginning… It just..." He can't think straight when she looks at him like that - like he's a villain in her story now. He wants to badly to go back in time, back to the roof. Before everything started to fall apart.

"You drew flowers," he finally says, as though that makes any sort of sense at all.

Her face says the same thing he is thinking - that he isn't making any sense.

"Well,  _that_ has nothing to do with what we're talking about, now does it?"

He takes a determined step towards her, "I saw your pages when I would collect the essays for Professor Kelley. You… you always drew flowers." Betty's intense glare softens, but she doesn't look any more moved by this than she was before. "I liked that. I was drawn to you, Betty. From the moment I first saw you. And then those flowers… I was curious and intrigued - you were so beautiful a-and light. But then I started actually  _reading_  your essays and I-"

Every syllable is pointed as she asks him through her teeth, "Correct me if I'm  _wrong_ , but isn't your job as the TA to collect papers and input the grades in the computer?"

"Yes but… Once I started reading your work I… Betty I felt like I  _knew_  you. Or at least… at least that I  _wanted_  to know you."

"But my writing is just that, Jughead! It's  _mine_. What I chose to share in those essays was not  _for_  you. They were personal, between me and my professor-"

"I know. And I never should have done that-" He reaches for her. She recoils from his touch.

She steps from him, clawing her nails through her soft, golden hair. For a moment he wishes he didn't know what it felt like - he wouldn't know what was at stake.

Wouldn't know what he was  _losing_.

"What did you do? Use my  _own_  words to dazzle me? Right down to the mismatched socks? Which I alluded to halfway through  _this_  essay?" She accuses, shoving a crinkled paper against his chest. "O-or, how about  _this_  one?" She asks, shoving another wadded up paper at him, "where I painstakingly discuss my complicated relationship with my mother?"

"Betty-"

Another couple of pages are all but thrown at him as Betty hysterically asks, "or how about my parent's painful divorce? Was that a good read, Jug?"

Jughead can't bring himself to say anything, especially when he looks into her eyes and sees them brimming with tears. He'd never meant to hurt her or betray her trust… he never meant for it to go this far. She shrugs her arms heavily, shaking her head and letting her arms drop tiredly at her sides.

"You know… I would have  _told_  you all this stuff in my own time if you'd just  _asked_ me. Instead, you used my words as your some kind of sick advantage, to  _what?_  Steal me away from your roommate?"

"No," Jughead nearly shouts. He drops the pages, stepping towards her. "No, that is not true, Betty." This time when he approaches her, he takes her by the shoulders. He wants so badly for her to understand - understand that what he did was wrong, but that it only made him love her more.

"Betty, I fell in love with you through your writing. Don't you see that?"

"You're in love with me?" She repeats, once more removing herself from under the weight of his hands. She backs away from him slowly, hugging onto herself tightly as she tells him, "you don't even  _know_  me, Jughead. You know parts of me I chose to jot down on paper - both fact  _and_  fiction - and  _you_  filled in the blanks. I'm not some quirky, manic pixie dream girl sent here to save you or make your life interesting. I am  _real._ Not some character on a piece of paper!"

By the end of her rant, she's crying.

Jughead had really been hoping he'd never be the reason that Betty Cooper cried.

It makes him feel sick to his stomach.

"Betty I  _swear_ I never saw you that way. I didn't idealize you. And I think you know that. And I think you're just scared because we fell so fast and what we have is  _real._  You're scared of letting yourself be vulnerable because you don't want to get hurt."

"You think because you invaded my privacy and read my innermost thoughts without my permission that you're some kind of expert on  _me_ and  _my_  feelings-?"

"I didn't have to read that in some essay! I saw it the night you cut yourself on glass and refused to let me help you. You're scared of letting someone love you."

"I'm not the one that's scared, Jughead," Betty challenges. "You are. You had two whole semesters to get to know me, but you didn't want to actually get to know me. Because making  _real_  human connections is scary a-and messy. No, you just wanted to pick the parts of me you liked and fill in the rest with your own conclusions-"

"You're wrong. You're so wrong about that," he swears. And when she looks at him now, she looks like she might agree. "These last few days were real, Betty. My feelings for you are real."

"Maybe so. But I'm too tired to try to figure out how I feel about this right now."

Betty wipes her eyes, taking in a staggered breath. She wordlessly turns to begin collecting her belongings.

The honeymoon is over.

All good things have to come to an end… even this.

As she walks past Jughead he reaches out for her, gripping her wrist, "for what it's worth," his voice cracks, "I'm really sorry, Betty."

She stares back at him, her eyes glistening. Searching.

"And I meant what I said. I know it's too soon but I don't care. I  _do_  love you."

"I think I do, too," she breathes, and Jughead's heart swells at her declaration. But she shakes her head. "But I can't be here now. I need a little space to figure out how I feel. Because I love you for exactly who you are. But I think you love a version of me that doesn't actually exist."

Her hand slips from his and he's never felt emptier.

And of all the apartments in all the towns in all the world… Betty Cooper walked right back out of his.

And Jughead has never felt less like Humphry Bogart in his life.

* * *

_To Be Continued..._


End file.
